


a bouquet (made for you)

by LazyWriterGirl



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: A Lot of Characters Get Mentioned, Angst, Background Het, Background Relationships, Background Slash, Blood and Injury, F/F, Femslash, Hanahaki Disease, If They Have An Arc They're Tagged, One-Sided Attraction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Surgery, Unrequited Love, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 21:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18081182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyWriterGirl/pseuds/LazyWriterGirl
Summary: Sumia has loved Cordelia almost all her life, it seems, no matter that the symptoms are only showing now; to die for that love would only be fitting.It's just a part of the cycle for someone afflicted as she is, after all.





	1. petals fall

The petals are splattered with red as they fall from her lips; they hurt like pinpricks climbing up and out of her chest, out of her throat.

 

It almost makes her laugh, because she's not at all surprised that this would happen to her. A romantic girl, such as herself; how could it have been any other way? This is something out of a fairytale, just as wonderful, just as fantastic, just as frightening.

It's killing her, she knows, but in this case, it is a kindness.

Before, when she was a little girl, she would pull petals off of flowers to find her fortune. As her mother had taught her, she would continue to pull, from flower after flower, until the result matched what she wanted to hear. Self-fulfilling, perhaps, but it _had_ worked.

For a time.

Now, standing over the sink as the petals from within her chest swirl in the shallow waters, trading blood for their true pink shade, she wishes for those days again. The days when everything had been carefree and light, when she had been able to cough without the petals being there. The days when love had been a word for the grown-ups to use, and she and her best friend could roam together without fear. Without anything at all, save for each other and happiness.

Back in those days, she and Cordelia had been just that: Sumia and Cordelia. Before they’d ever heard of such a disease as what afflicts her now. Just Sumia and Cordelia, or sometimes, Sumia-and-Cordelia in a non-romantic but just as eternal sort of way. She’s never suffered being Sumia-without-Cordelia, hadn’t ever thought she would have to feel like that.

She misses those days, sometimes, but those days are long behind her.

Sumia scoops the petals from the basin and drains the water from them, smoothing out the furled edges and admiring each and every one as she pats them dry. She knows that it is strange, but she couldn't bear to throw them away; she saves as many as she can, instead. The process has gotten easier in so short a time, and there is never any blood left on them when she is done. The petals have become something dear, and they are so very pretty, so very special-looking. So very much like the one she loves.

 

The one she loves, who loves another.

 

She gets the most work done on weekends. It's morbid, perhaps, and certainly amongst the more bizarre hobbies she's ever seen or heard of in the world, but it is what she likes to do with the time she has that she does not spend in love or books. The flowers she makes are near-perfect, in their way, and the petals stay fresh for longer than she thinks normal.

It's nice, in a way, that something that is killing her slowly can still provide her with joy. When, as a little girl she would pull the petals from flowers, she could never have imagined that one day she would be putting them back together, from petals coughed up from out of her.

Love, as it would appear, does the strangest things.

  
  


She does a little research at work, in between phone calls and emails and meetings that pale in comparison to the importance of all this. Her disease is not so uncommon as the medical professionals would have people think, though not anywhere near so common as to be a cause for concern to the world at large. Thus far, there have been no major discoveries to link cases together; no statistical proof of who is more likely to be affected, and how it all comes about.

Sumia herself has known many sufferers, though thankfully the duration of those illnesses has been short, almost all ending in love or in the removal of it. No deaths, either, which she knows is strange. Only two cases known to her have lasted longer than a year. No. Three. But one of those shall be remedied soon enough.

According to the articles and the interviews and the reports, the strength of the sufferer affects the speed of the disease. It develops in stages, of which there are three, and by the third the stakes are much more clearly-cut. She is in the earliest stage for now, but far enough along that she can see where this might go if things do not change. Sumia already knows they won't.

How strong must she be, to suffer the petals clawing their way to the surface, choking her, before death or the cold cut of a scalpel serves to be her freedom?

It will not go that way, of course. After the petals there will be flowers, full ones, and she will no longer feel the need to scoop each single petal out of sinks and waste bins, nor off the floor whenever she misses one of those. It will be too painful, she imagines, too painful to bear, and yet she knows, without feeling that pain even once, that she will not give up her love for Cordelia, not even when the first flowers come.

No, she will be one of the those who reach the third and final stage and hold on to hopeless love, and she will die like 90% of sufferers, when that phase of her illness comes to pass. When the love she feels turns her insides into a beautiful, deadly entanglement of blood and lungs and vines and thorns that rend her apart from the inside.

And she can only be free then, in death, because the one she loves, the one she needs, that one loves another who does not love her in return. _Those_ are the conditions. _That_ is the way this will end. Aside from being loved in return, or forcibly removing that love, only death can free her now. She will die first, however, because where she is weak, the one she loves is strong.

 

There's a certain comfort in that, she finds.

  
  


"It got _you_ too, I see."

"How could you tell?"

A tissue swipes at her cheek, just outside her mouth, and comes back with a smear of blood. "You're still not used to it happening in public; you don't clean up too carefully yet."

She smiles and takes the tissue back when Robin offers it to her, wiping the corners of her mouth again. "Thank you."

A nod and a smile is all she gets from her companion for a while. Then, "You're still very early on, so you can feel it and plan for it, and run to the restroom or the nearest trash can if you want. You can still hide it." They're sitting close together at lunch, as they always do. Robin’s down half a sandwich and a bag of chips. She's eating a salad, more to have something to eat than for the sake of satisfying any actual hunger.

"How have you been through this so many times?"

"I fall in love quickly, they say," Robin says by way of answer, the smile on the other woman's lips rueful and dark. "But personally, I think that's not true. I think I'm just messed up. There's _something_ wrong with me, somewhere, if I can love that easily."

"There's _nothing_ wrong with you," she says, afraid to cough despite the tickle in her throat. She can still control it, still pretend that this isn't something real.

Robin catches the look on her face, and shakes her head with sadness. "You would be better off coughing them out whenever you can. Holding it in could make things worse faster…but it also depends on you. Some people have been known to hold out for years before the flowers come in full. Others? Not anywhere near so lucky."

"I don't think I'll be lucky at any stage of this," she says, and she's only being honest. Her love is too great, too persistent to be ignored, and she would not want to hold back her feelings, at any rate. "I would die for her, and gladly, though, so I suppose it's alright." If anything, she can only say that she's surprised that she had not fallen ill before this.

It only started a few months ago, but she's loved for so much longer, or so it feels. "I think it wouldn't be so bad, dying for love like this."

That isn't the sort of thing Robin wants to hear. "You're giving yourself up already, and you shouldn't feel that you have to." A gentle shake of the head accompanies the hand that takes her own. "You should know that your life is worth more than that."

"It is, yes, I agree…but I love her, and can't bear to tell her, and I will not make her choose my life over her own love. Her own life." The pricking of tears begins to build in her eyes, and she does not want those to fall, either. "If she dies, I may as well die too; I'm not as strong as anyone thinks. Certainly not as strong as her, and she's been fighting this for ages."

Warm brown eyes flash with recognition. "Her? I mean, I always thought…but—

"No," Sumia says, stopping her companion before she can say anything further.

"It's…better this way, believe me." She feels the pinprick of petals gathering in her chest again, and excuses herself. There's more of them today, ten or eleven as opposed to the usual five or six. The disease is progressing at a normal rate for someone as gone on the one they love as she is.

When she returns, the seat across from hers is empty, and she throws the remnants of her lunch into the wastebasket before going back. Sumia can't say she'd been particularly hungry, anyway. She rarely is, these days.

There's a book on her desk with a note left inside it. She already knows who'd taken the time to leave it. The note, however, she hadn't quite been expecting. It’s more of a short letter, written in the decisive hand she recognizes so very well. Robin’s always been a bit dramatic; handwritten notes are a longstanding part of their friendship at this point.

 

 _It may be hard, but the longer you refuse to submit yourself fully to the feelings of love you have, the longer you live. Please, survive, if only because life right now would be difficult without you_ . _I have watched too many die to this; don’t make me watch you die, too._

 

Sumia won’t make any promises, but she could _try_ to live, at least a little longer.

  
  


The weekend sees her in the hospital, to visit a friend of hers. Gaius is a lovely man, and a good one, and they've known each other for years. She'd never thought he would be the type to choose to cut his love away, but he's stage 3 now and his siblings still need him; and so he'll do what she could never dream of doing herself.

"Does it hurt terribly?"

"Worse than you can imagine, Stumbles," he groans. The sound of his voice is hollow, barely there, so different from the boisterous, joking man he'd been only months ago. "It feels like there's these vines around my chest, see, and they're squeezin' me to death." He laughs, choking on the sound. "Damn, and I can't even have a sucker or anything."

"No, you really can't." That'll only make it worse, she knows. She fiddles with strands of his pumpkin-bright hair as a rattling cough shakes him from head to toe. "Will water help?"

He takes a sip without answering the question, leaning back into his pillows with a sigh that almost sounds like death. "I feel like shit." Gaius laughs, and it doesn't sound _at all_ like what his laugh should. "And to think this is all because I loved a person I can't have. Gods, I'm being punished for all of it now, eh?"

She would cry, but he doesn't like that. "You won't remember these feelings, though, once this is done. And you'll be better. But are you okay to forget your love like this?"

"Hell, I don't want that to happen, believe me, but I can't die just yet. I gotta live, even if I'd be just as happy dyin' out there in the world."

"Have you tried to tell her?"

"No, and I won't, because she's happy and in love already, and I'm not gonna jeopardize that to save my own skin." She hopes, as she helps him sip from his water again, that she can have the same resolve when her time comes. "Nah, I'm not gonna tell her, not gonna bring it up. Why would I when I can just as well save myself?"

Sumia knows what he's saying, understands him completely, but she couldn't make the same choice, and she knows it. Her beliefs are too romantic, her family too independent to need her, her ideas about all of this too deeply rooted in the feeling that she does not want to live if it means she cannot love who she does. To forget would be impossible, a cruelty she cannot bear to inflict upon herself.

She stays with her friend until the end of visiting hours, knowing that the day of his freedom draws nearer. He wants her to be there, and so she will come, though it's difficult to remind herself that this is his choice. It saddens her to think that he would give up on love, but she understands.

He's practical, _far_ more so than her, and his family needs him to survive. To live, to move on from this episode in his life. Sumia doubts she would receive the same encouragement, and really, it's better this way. Short though her life might be—and she cannot see it continuing much longer—she has had happiness in abundance, and time with the woman she loves even though she is not loved in return.

  
  


Sumia has loved Cordelia almost all her life, it seems, no matter that the symptoms are only showing now; to die for that love would only be fitting.

 


	2. petals, bunched

She's expecting the knock on her door, but even when it comes she nearly jumps in surprise. It's only Robin, she reminds herself, only her dear friend Robin. Cordelia's still out of the country on that business trip she'd been so excited for, still somewhere in the Feroxi mountains with the rest of her team, and  _ him _ .

She'd only gone because of him. 

"Sumia, are you there? Sumia?"

"One minu—whoops!" She trips on the air just above her carpet and rolls a little ways onto the wood that marks where her living room and hallway meet. A stray petal flecked with small droplets of red leaps from her throat as she coughs, trying to grab some air for her shocked lungs.

"…did you just trip? Are you okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine!"

She manages to catch herself before falling a second time, pulling herself up by her door handle. Robin looks concerned standing out in the corridor, one hand holding a bag by her side, the other propped by the elbow, fingers in the woman's tousled white hair. "I know I'm devastatingly attractive, but there's no need to fall all over yourself for me, Sumia."

"If only I could," she says. Her friend’s eyes flash as she catches the legitimate wistfulness in Sumia’s voice. Robin steps into her apartment, gently closing the door behind her as she kicks off her shoes. It’s all needless graceful and particularly Robin-like, and it makes Sumia smile despite how upset she feels all of a sudden.

"How are you feeling?"

"Quite well, all things considered."

"Sumia," Robin begins, and Sumia can hear the gentle reproach in her friend's words. "I know you've resolved not to tell her, but don't you think, even just as your best friend, that she deserves to know?"

Sumia shakes her head as she and Robin settle on her couch. Her phone's probably going to slide out of her pocket, but that's fine. "She's still in Ferox, on that big business trip."

"Still?" Robin waits for her to nod before adding, "Well, I suppose nothing can be done until she comes back. That's definitely not an over-the-phone type of conversation."

" _ Definitely _ not." They're quiet for a few minutes, the bag Robin had brought in half-forgotten on her coffee table. "Did Gaius ask you to come, too?" She already knows he did, but it's nice to ask.

Robin's careful eyes catch hers, but thankfully she doesn't seem to want to fight about Sumia's stubbornness. Not right now, at any rate. "Yes. You'll be there?"

"Yes."

"You still aren't comfortable with it."

It should be more unsettling, how easily Robin can read her. It isn't, though. Not in the slightest. "I just…I can't explain it. I understand his choice though, and I'm glad that he isn't going to die."

"Sometimes I wonder how you can bear it. Supporting us as you do. I consider myself very lucky that you care so much for your friends, and that you include me in that count."

She takes Robin's hand. Gives it a squeeze. "Of course."

Robin smiles weakly. "You've come to every one of my operations. Every single one. I don't know what I'd do without you."

She remembers each of those operations too, how frightened she had been every single time. Robin's already hit the maximum of four; they'd be hard pressed to find a surgeon willing to try a fifth. "I'm still hoping that you find love, Robin. You deserve the best."

"If you can believe it of me, why can you not believe it of yourself, too?"

"I'm different…I just. She's  _ different _ ."

Robin looks like she's going to say something, but seems to decide better of it. Sumia wonders what's changed between them that Robin feels she should hold her thoughts back. Still, her friend's warm smile is the same as it's always been when she points to the forgotten bag and says that they'd better get to work. 

They're baking pies for Gaius’s family today, and Sumia loves taking the time to bake a few pies.

She's good at it, and Robin is with her. Aside from Cordelia, Robin is her favourite person to spend such a day with; lately, she spends far more time with Robin even when Cordelia is home. Robin drops everything to hang out with her, even though she’s important at the office. Even though Sumia’s such a mess that she needs more help than a grown woman should.

Before they start she coughs into her kitchen sink, unable to stop herself so that she can run to the bathroom instead. Robin watches her, even holds her hair back as she all but vomits out more petals than she's used to seeing. It takes her a minute to stop the retching noises, and another minute to settle the itching in her throat.

"Do you need water?" Robin asks, already reaching for the refrigerator door.

"I think I'm fine," she says. She watches the petals float lazily along the thin layer of water in the sink, and decides not to save them. There's too much blood, and they don't look quite right, all clumped up together the way they are. More like balls of mushed up petals than any one identifiable thing.

"Honey, I think you should at least go and see a doctor."

"I'm fine."

"Sumia…" Robin trails off when she turns to face her. Sumia again marvels at the other woman's sense of empathy. Robin always knows what to say, and when to say it, and how. "Do you think I've finished with the crust for this one?"

Sumia takes the out. "…Yep! It looks good!"

The conversation that follows turns light and sweet. Of little consequence. Twice, she has to excuse herself so that she can cough into her bathroom sink. The strange clumping she'd experienced doesn't return.

  
  
  


Hours later, she thinks back to the look on Robin's face as she'd coughed out that bloody lump.

Shock. Sadness. A tender affection. It must seem that she isn't trying very hard to live, but she is, truly. She’d promised Robin she would, and even though she’d said it wouldn’t be so bad to die for Cordelia she...doesn’t want to die. Not really. Not yet. 

With a sigh, she pulls her phone from where it had sunk in between the cushions, most likely that same morning. Robin's Instagram feed is busy, and there are images of the two of them plastered all over everything. Scrolling through the pictures, she smiles. Robin is big on taking pictures, and these are all wonderful candid shots. They've taken to setting up a tripod on days like this, trained on them, capturing these precious moments. Between the pair of them they must have thousands of pictures by now. 

With her thumb hovering over the screen, she focuses on a particularly lovely shot of Robin. The other woman really  _ is _ devastatingly attractive, though she'd been half-joking when Sumia opened the door to her this morning. There's a slant to Robin's eyes that makes her look crafty, almost naughty, and yet the curve of her lips belies her honest kindness. In the picture, she's looking at Sumia with a soft expression on her face.

She wonders if it's possible that Robin might…but no, it  _ couldn’t _ be.

She's watched Robin fall in love four times already, seen her friend—the best one she has aside from the woman she loves—cut away her love four times, each after waiting longer than the last. Each time for a woman far more lovely, or more clever, or…well, just  _ more _ than Sumia. There's no way that what she’s thinking is accurate,and she'd do well not to think about it any more.

Besides, it's not like she'd have the heart to…

Her phone buzzes in her hand as a harp begins to play, causing Sumia to drop her phone in surprise. Thankfully the fall from her hand to the carpet is barely an issue, and she's able to calm herself down enough to swipe on the "Answer" icon. "H-hello?" she says, hating that she hadn't taken the extra second just to check who it is.

"Sumia, are you alright? I haven't interrupted anything, have I?" The light, teasing tone of Cordelia's voice all but steals her breath away even more than Sumia's surprise that she's called. "Sumia?"

"I'm fine-fine!"

"Are you sure I'm not interrupting anything? Is Robin still there?"

"No, we finished up about an hour ago, and she went to visit Gaius."

There's a measured silence. Then, Cordelia says, in a voice that doesn't quite sound the way Sumia thinks it should, " Ah." Another pause as the sound of a keyboard click-clacking comes through, and Sumia has to stifle a smile. Of course Cordelia would be hard at work, as always. "He's undergoing surgery tomorrow, isn't he?"

"Yes," she says, "and he said to tell you he's going to be just fine."

"I don't doubt that in the least." Cordelia takes a breath to say more, only to be stopped by a harsh, retching cough. Sumia's heart leaps into her throat as the sound cuts out. It takes Cordelia a few minutes to come back, her voice slightly hoarse. "I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"You don't have to apologize, Cordy. It's just me, remember?"

Cordelia laughs gently, so much more controlled and mature then the boisterous, hearty laughter of their childhood. "Never  _ just _ you, Su, don't say that. So tell me, what's going on w—" Sumia hears a muffled knock, followed by  _ his _ voice, and she knows the bit of happiness she’s been given is over. Cordelia sounds a bit rushed when she comes back on. "Have to go, but I'll call again tomorrow or the day after. And we'll go for lunch  _ as soon  _ as I get back!"

She manages a quick goodbye before Cordelia ends the call, the words devolving into a coughing fit that sees her rushing for the bathroom. Petals soon swirl over a thin layer of water, flecked with more than she's used to seeing.

Progression.

Sumia has expected this, but it's still frightening to think of it; it's only petals and blood-flecked coughing, now, but things are already getting worse. Not so quickly as she'd thought they might, but more quickly than she'd sort of been hoping. She wonders if she should take Robin's advice and go to a doctor, but there's really no point to that.

Any doctor she meets will only tell her that she can take some medication for the pain, that she can brew some tea for her throat, that she can carry around a handkerchief to mask what's happening to her. None of that will matter, when it comes down to it. The disease she suffers, her own personal cross, can have only so many outcomes.

She could choose to get the operation done, same as Gaius. At this stage it wouldn't even have to be an operation so much as a brief, but effective treatment plan. This won't end that way, of course. Not for Sumia. No matter what, she couldn't do it, couldn't sacrifice her feelings for Cordelia even if doing so would save her life.

She could also confess, but she knows that all that might do, all she can truly see it doing, would be to push Cordelia away. That, she could never accept. Cordelia would be kind, but she has her own love to consider, and she would think that being near Sumia… _ don’t even think it.  _ She shuts her eyes as she leans against the sink. She can't.

Can't think about it. Won't think about it. Won't confess her feelings for Cordelia. Never, lest she lose even the slightest closeness with the woman she loves.

"I'm pathetic," she mutters, hands deftly picking up the petals. The blood still takes mere seconds to wash off, which…well, she's not sure if that's good, of whether that's a sign that it's really not that bad. She's probably playing herself, just like she did as a child, pulling the petals off of flowers to find her fortune.

 

She works on recreating her flowers of petals and paper and glue a little more than she normally would, though really she should be getting some sleep. She has to wake up early to finish up a report, and then she's off to the hospital. It's Gaius's operation tomorrow. She has to be brave for his sake. Has to look and feel like she wants him to believe like everything is going to be just fine. Because he's going to be  _ just fine. _

He just has to give up his love for Miriel.

She thinks about that as she gets ready for bed, as she pulls her comb through her hair and makes circles round her teeth with her toothbrush. She could never do what he's about to, no matter how much she doesn't want to die. Now that she's had more time to think about it, her feelings in that regard have remained the same. To think that she would need to let go of such warm, tender feelings…she's won't. She never will.

Sumia's love for Cordelia is what makes her  _ special _ . It's the most distinguishing feature she has, and the thin that makes her feel the best about herself, above everything else. She wouldn't ever just give it up. Not even to save herself. How could she?

Thinking of Gaius, and of Robin, she realizes that it's selfless, though it seems to be done to serve a selfish end. And yet she can't even call it that; Gaius is not a bad person. Why should he die from a disease that only hurts him because he loves someone who doesn't love him in return? He's giving up his own love, refusing to burden Miriel with even the simple knowledge that it's because of her that he's dying. It's selfless, and gods above, she could never be that selfless.

She's just Sumia.

How could she  _ ever _ do something like that?


	3. sunflowers

He looks even smaller than he had mere days ago, even more sickly and sad. They're cutting it close, leaving the operation so late. Gaius smiles at the five of them who've shown up to lend him their support. She's here, of course, holding one of his hands while Robin leans on the other side of his bed, telling the sort of cheeky jokes that he used to laugh too hard at. Now, Gaius can barely manage a chuckle.

Libra's here too, though his usual serene smile is marred by the worry in his eyes. Beside him stands Say'ri, for whom Robin had once been in this exact same situation—though Sumia knows Robin has never told her—and Tiki is at her side. Tiki, the kindhearted, soft-spoken reason why Robin's love had been doomed to fail.

Sumia knows Robin can't remember the feelings, that there's no uneasiness in her heart when she looks at Say'ri and Tiki, so obviously in love even despite their concern for Gaius. They’re her friends, yes, but they could also just as easily be anybody else. It makes her sad in a way, to think that Gaius will look at Miriel like that once this is over. 

 

Like she's anybody else.

 

Like how Robin is looking at Say'ri, and how she looks at Flavia, and Maribelle, and Cherche, and how she may one day look at S…no. She's not supposed to think about that. She's just imagining something that couldn't possibly be true. To distract herself from what's been happening lately. That’s all it is.

"Hey, Stumbles, why d’you look so sad?" Gaius squeezes her hand, the motion as soft as if he were a feeble old man. "I'm gonna be just fine, right? You said it yourself."

"That's right," she manages to say. "Just fine."

Just fine, like how Robin was after the first time; and the second, the third, and the fourth times, too. Just fine.

The doctor comes in, his smile kindly as he assuages everyone's fears and addresses all their concerns. His eyes seem to shift a bit as he nods to Robin, but Sumia doesn't think there's anything wrong there, really. Robin's just very protective of her friends, and it can make people wary.

"Okay then, everyone, be sure to get some pictures of my guts. For Henry's sake, since the poor kid couldn't come today!" He sounds like he's trying to be more like himself. His old self. Before all of this. "Remember guys," he says as the nurses and assistants start to filter in, pushing them out. "Pics of my  _ guts _ !"

"Please don't do that," says one of the nurses as she leads them to a viewing gallery of sorts. Sumia thinks it's a little weird for the hospital to have this sort of thing, but the disease is prevalent enough in this area to warrant it. "The washrooms are down that way, and if you need to eat, the cafeteria is two floors down. There are also a few vending machines about." She smiles. "If you wanted to eat here, you can, though most people find they don't quite have the stomach for it. There are tables back that way as well," she says, pointing down the hallway where the washrooms can be found.

"You sound as if you've had to go through this a lot," Tiki says, her permanently sleepy-sexy-soothing voice out of place under the strange lights, so different in tone from the buzzing of the medical equipment.

The nurse sighs, a wearily gentle sound from somewhere in her throat. Her eyes are still kind, however, which makes Sumia feel a little better about all of this. "It's happened quite a bit since we started offering more than just the initial treatment plan. A lot of people leave it alone for longer than they realize, leading to cases like your friend here. But don't worry," she says, voice calm and confident, "the doctor is very good at what he does."

She leaves them alone after that, the five of them moving closer to the glass to watch as medical professionals prepare the room. It all seems so routine. 

Something about that really bothers her. Yes, it's a surgery, and they've done plenty like it, but…it's more than that. They're preparing to cut away Gaius's love.

They're preparing to  _ save _ Gaius's  _ life _ .

"He will be well, Sumia," Say'ri says, her voice as tranquil as the soothing nature sounds that haven't helped Sumia get to sleep in months.

"He'll be just fine," Robin says, and her brown eyes blaze as she watches the people on the other side of glass. "Tiki, are you going to be okay to watch? I really don't think you have to, if you aren't cool with it." The words are flippant, but the concern is real. It takes Sumia a moment to remember why.

Oh, yes. Tiki had fainted at each of Robin's operations, though she'd insisted on being present for each one. "Thank you, Robin. I think I'll stay until the operation starts. Then I'll just move over to the bench there."

"How long do you think it'll be?" she asks, though she knows that operating time for this particular procedure can last for anywhere from four to fifteen hours. The more extreme the case, the longer it will take, and the nurse was right about Gaius; he's left it rather late.

"Depends on how far he's progressed," Robin says, more to talk than because any of them needs the explanation. "He didn't look too good. I'd say it'll be at  _ least _ five or six hours, if not a bit longer."

Sumia nods, watching as the operating room comes together. "Naga willing." Libra nods at her, the simple gesture reassuring. She smiles back. It isn't easy. "Naga, please," she whispers as Gaius is brought to the operating table. He sees them watching. He winks.

She's never really been much of a believer, but her prayers for Gaius are sincere now, in this moment. Please, Naga, let him live. Please. He's going to be just fine.

He  _ has to _ be just fine.

The doctor enters, nodding to his audience from his side of the glass, and says a few words to Gaius. He nods in turn, trying for a smile as flowers burst forth from his mouth. She'd never seen them before, but now she has the perfect view of the blooms. Sunflowers. Large and covered in dark liquid. Gaius's blood. Say'ri pulls Tiki away from where she's watching by the window, settling with her on the bench just out of view of the glass panel.

Sumia watches the scene unfold before her, as if it were all happening to a stranger. She doesn't notice she's pressing into Robin's side until the other woman is holding her. "He's going to be just fine."

But what will he lose in the process? Memories, feelings; he'll never again understand, never again feel how special Miriel is…was…to him. To his heart.

But he has to live,  _ why _ is it so hard for her to understand that?

Why is it so hard for her to accept?

The first cut barely registers in her mind, nor the second, and it's not until Gaius is completely laid open on the table that she remembers what she's watching. "Oh, gods," she says, for lack of a better expression. Gaius, his hair, the flowers climbing out of his open chest. And blood. So much blood.

He'll be just fine, right?

He'll be just fine.

The doctor simply stares at the sunflowers for a moment, his deft hands poking and prodding, lifting and pushing and pulling. There are vines amongst the flowers, crushing petals and squeezing the lungs underneath. Even from the distance, the angle at which she's viewing all of it is too much. Far too much.

She backs away slightly, held only by Robin's strong arms. How she'd ever gotten through any of Robin's operations, she's not at all sure. A voice at the back of her mind provides a reason, unhelpful but true. Because at those operations,  _ Cordelia _ had been there, propping her up the way Robin does now.

"Have faith, Sumia," Libra says, still just as serene as ever. There might be tears in his eyes. Yes. There. 

She hadn't even stopped to consider how this must be hurting him. He loves Gaius, she knows that; has loved him for years and been granted the good fortune not to suffer the same disease. "Gaius is strong. He won't die just yet. Not while his family needs him."

The three of them stand there, and horrible as it is Sumia can't bring herself to look away. From the stern set of his shoulders it seems that the doctor has decided on a course of action. He gestures to one of the nurses, asking for something. A blade that looks more like a weapon than a surgical tool.

Sumia's stomach does a queasy flip as she watches the man cut away a sunflower at the root, near Gaius's slowly-moving lung. She doesn't know how long she stands there, watching as sunflowers fall under the doctor's hand, slice by slice. There's no end of them, even despite the constant activity. Her feet have been hurting, but she's not sure for how long. Gaius doesn't even seem to be breathing, but he must be, because the doctor is still cutting and slicing and slashing away at the sunflowers.

She's never seen so much blood.

"His mother wants to see you once he's home, by the way," Robin tells her, tone conversational even though Sumia can tell that the other woman is focusing completely on Gaius. Sumia turns to her anyway, but Robin's eyes don't stray from the glass even as she tightens her grip around Sumia's waist. "She wants to thank you for being there for him. And for the pies."

"I'm glad," she says. She watches Robin watching the glass, concern wrinkling the skin around her eyes. "Are you alright?"

"It's…much more difficult to watch than I imagined it would be."

"It doesn't get any easier, either," Sumia murmurs. Robin takes her eyes from Gaius for a moment, the look she gives Sumia searing in its intensity and nigh unreadable. "Oh! I…"

Robin shakes her head, pulling Sumia into a hug that feels like the safest place in the world. "I'm so sorry, Sumia." The moment passes as Sumia coughs, holding her mouth shut as she races down the hallway and into the washroom. The petals are clumped together again, not tightly packed together like the first time, but noticeable, still.

"Sumia?"

"Don't look." She doesn't know why she says something like that, something so childish. "I'm fine."

Robin sighs, the sound empathetic despite itself. "Except you're not, 'Mia. You're…look. It's progressing, isn't it? You need help."

At least Robin doesn't say she's dying. Because she's not. She's just fine, isn't she? She's alive, and breathing doesn't hurt, and today isn't about her anyway.

"This isn't about me, okay? Today is not about me."

"No, you're right. But do you really want to get to this point?" Robin opens the door she'd forgotten to lock, and looks more upset than she usually allows herself to be. "You really should at least see a doctor."

"I can't do this right now, Robin."

The other woman recoils at the harshness of her tone, and Sumia could cry. How could she speak to Robin that way? How could she? "Robin, I—

"It's alright," Robin says, and it's how upset she sounds that stops Sumia from trying to apologize again. "I'm going back. Be careful not to ruin your dress; it's too pretty for blood splatters."

The bathroom door closes as Robin turns away, and Sumia takes her time clearing the bloody clumps out of the hospital washroom sink. There's no reason to be as upset as she is, except that today was bound to be stressful enough without making Robin so unhappy, and so of course she had to go ahead and do that. And Gaius…

It's just struck her that he could die on that operating table.

She cries as she finishes up, trying to hold in the sniffling sobs that mean she's more upset than she wants to admit. Robin isn't there when she comes out, and neither is Say'ri. Tiki watches her approach through half-lidded eyes. "They went to get food. And coffee."

"Oh, good," she says, embarrassed at herself. Libra turns to her and tries for a smile that doesn't light up his lovely eyes the way it should. She glances at her watch. Three hours already. Nearly four.

"Are you well, Sumia? You seem upset." Tiki's always kind, but her voice sounds oddly gentle now, in addition to everything else.

Despite herself, Sumia can barely hold back the tears. "I'll be okay. I'm just…Gaius…" She can't quite bring herself to use him as part of a lie.

Tiki doesn't question it, only pats the seat on the bench beside her. Sumia sits, unsure what she might say next. Tiki is one of Robin's friends, really, one of Robin's and Gaius's mysteriously mature friends from school or some such thing. She's not quite sure how they'd met her either, but regardless…"Here, Sumia," Tiki says, offering her a square of folded red cloth. "For your mouth."

At the dabbing motions Tiki makes on her own face, Sumia wipes her blood away. "Thank you." She feels with her fingers to make sure she hasn't missed any more, embarrassed that she's still incapable of cleaning herself up properly. It's been months. "I'll wash this and return it to you."

"No need, dear, you can keep it." Tiki doesn't seem inclined to say anything else after that, and as Say'ri's and Robin's footsteps ring throughout the hallway, Sumia rises. She moves over until she's close to Libra, who makes an effort to gently bump his shoulder against her. Camaraderie. She doesn't know if he knows why she feels even more rotten than she'd been at the start of all this, but she's grateful.

"Smile, Sumia, if you can. It will make things seem at least a little brighter."

She tries to smile and finds that it feels dishonest. She could kick herself. It's her fault for being so rude and upsetting Robin. Robin has only ever wanted to help her, to make sure she's okay. Sumia can't help but feel that she's being rotten.

She lets herself cry as she watches the slow progress of Gaius's operation. The sunflowers bursting up out of his chest are unsettling under the harsh light, covered in blood and quivering from the beat of his heart, the faint rhythm of his breathing. It's horrible.

Someone takes her hand and wraps it around a cup of something hot. Robin. "Hey, he's going to get through this, okay?"

Sumia can't look her in the eyes.

"There's sandwiches over there, if you get hungry." Robin's holding back again, and even though Sumia wants to tell her that she doesn't have to, that it was her fault for being rude when Robin was just being a good friend, she can't. The words catch in her throat.

The hot chocolate is weak, typical of hospital fare, but it's hot enough. Inoffensive despite its blandness. She can feel Robin just by her side, and the sinking feeling in her stomach doesn't go away as she watches the skillful doctor try to save Gaius's life.

 

He'll be _ just fine _ .

 

It'll  _ all _ be just fine.

 

_ She'll  _ be just fine.

 

It's not about her, though. Why would she think that? How selfish of her to think that.

  
  


She doesn't know how long she spends crying at the glass, doesn't know how long it is until the doctor turns to them—it's long enough that her hot chocolate has turned ice cold in the paper cup—but there's a bloody thumbs-up in the air. It's done. 

Everyone starts talking all at once as nurses and attendants slip in to talk to them about aftercare and recovery and all sorts of things, and she slips back into the washroom again as coughs wrack her entire body. There's a knock on the door. It could only be Robin. "Yes?"

"Sumia, I'm sorry." Robin sounds so miserable it makes her want to cry again. "I should know that people all handle this differently, and you've helped me through it so many times I…I just hate feeling like I'm watching you die."

She nearly slips into the door in her rush to open it, falling into Robin instead. Thankfully, the other woman's balance is good enough to keep them both upright, leaving Sumia free to sob into Robin's shoulder. "It's not your fault! It's me. I'm so sorry!"

Robin holds her close and strokes her hair. "I think maybe you and I should have a talk later. Just the two of us. What do you think?"

"Mhm, yeah," she mumbles, embarrassed at the situation, yet unwilling to pull herself out of Robin's arms. "Where's everyone else?"

"Talking to the nurses. Waiting for the doctor. I don't know why they wanted to go hover around Gaius's room when we won't be able to see him until tomorrow at least, but they're just anxious, I guess."

"But you're not?" She still can't bring herself to lift her face from Robin's shoulder.

Robin strokes her hair again. "Shh, shh, of course I am. But Gaius is being taken care of by a great team right now, and you were just coughing up petal clumps in a washroom, all alone."

There's a sort of joking edge to her voice, like a gently whispered " _ duh _ ". Inadvertently she thinks of Cordelia, the resulting urge to cough ripping through her body as she fights it. "Can we go see him?"

"Of course. Are you all finished up though, or do you need a bit more time?"

The sink needs a rinse, so she lifts her head from Robin's shoulder reluctantly and goes to do just that, blushing at the fact that Robin helps her tidy the rest of her mess. Before they leave, Robin wets a paper towel and wipes her face. She remembers doing the same for Robin. The last time was two years ago, and since then Robin's paid her back tenfold, at least, in myriad ways.

"Thank you," she says as Robin finishes up.

"Anytime," Robin replies, offering her a hand. "Now come on."

 

The others are huddled around the doctor when they make it to Gaius's hallway. Libra sees them and smiles, the worry in his eyes replaced by a steady relief. The doctor nods, his voice warm, "He'll take a while to recover, difficult as it was, but it was a complete success. Expect a full recovery!"

"Oh, how excellent!"

 

She feels she could cry again, and that's okay. Gaius is going to be just fine, after all. He's going to be just fine.

 

And so will she.

 

_ Right _ ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic seems to be all I can write right now, forgive me if it's upsetting/not what you want me to be updating at the moment.


	4. a short reprieve

"The new girl's going to be beside me."

"There's a new girl?"

Sumia could laugh, but the slightest sounds seem to provoke a coughing fit, so she settles for a smile. "Yeah! You weren't paying attention, were you?"

Robin shakes her head, smiling ruefully. "I would have been, except that  _ somebody _ lent me a fantastic book and I haven't been able to put it down all day." She pulls the book Sumia had lent her from her bag. The bookmark is already at a place a little over halfway through. "Seriously though, it's so good! And it's not like we're busy or anything right now."

"Now listen, young lady, don't make me regret letting you read  _ novels _ ," she says, trying her best to imitate her mother, back in the day. Robin laughs at that, which sets her off as well. Thankfully, nothing happens. It's surprising, and she may be imagining it, but it feels like she's been coughing less, which is…well, she's not sure what it is. Good, most likely, except that she knows her feelings haven't changed. And Cordelia is coming home soon.

"Sumia?"

"Hm?"

Robin's careful eyes pick out every detail of her expression, and Sumia blushes under the scrutiny, as she always does. After a second though, the other woman only smiles and shakes her head again. "Nothing. But really, there's a new girl? I feel bad now."

"Don't worry about it. Since she's sitting by me, I'll make sure she knows that she should avoid you at all costs."

"Aw, come on! That's not fair, 'Mia!"

She laughs again. Despite how mature some of her friends are, Robin can be so silly sometimes. Sumia loves that about her. If only she could… _ no _ . Stop.

She's been thinking a lot about that lately, about the joke Robin had made a couple weeks ago, that morning at her apartment.

"Sumia, really, are you alright?" Robin's concerned face isn't the most serious one Sumia's ever seen, but it approaches it to an extent that Sumia doesn't like. She's been taking good care of herself. She's trying her best to survive here, to live. "Do you need me to get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine," she says, coughing into the handkerchief Tiki had given her and refused to take back, even after she'd washed it. "I think I just need some water though." She puts the handkerchief back into her pocket and reaches for her water bottle, only to find that it's empty.

"Let me go fill that up for you," Robin says, plucking it from her hands as easily as if it were a sheet of paper, or something equally less unwieldy. "You'd better get on that sandwich, by the way."

"Right," she says, taking a bite to show Robin that she really is going to eat. It's difficult to chew, for whatever reason. Must just be her dry throat. It's itchy, too, but water should fix her right up. Once Robin comes back.

She sits still for a moment, allowing herself to just breathe. This feeling in her throat is new. Different from the usual prickliness. She's not sure she wants to find out what that means, even though a part of her knows that it's inevitable that she will.

Before she can get too broody over it, a braid of blush pink hair catches her eyes. Perfect! "Oh, Olivia! Come, sit here, she calls, patting the seat to her other side, across from Robin's. She needs to distract herself from the state of her throat, and it'll be good to get to know her new seat-mate. 

The other woman smiles gratefully and makes her way over, tray balanced in her hands in a way that makes Sumia just a teensy bit jealous. "Hi Sumia, thank you so much! Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Of course not," she says, feeling a genuine rush of new affection for her lovely new coworker. "You and I are going to be side by side throughout a lot, and I look forward to working with you." And becoming friends, because she can already tell that she's going to like Olivia immensely.

The other woman smiles and blushes, her cheeks just slightly darker than her hair. "You're too kind," she says, mumbling much like Sumia does whenever she meets someone new.

She opens her mouth to say something, but stops midway, reaching for her pocket to pull out Tiki's—or,  _ fine _ , her—handkerchief. Olivia smiles kindly at her as she finishes, and Sumia notes that she seems perfectly okay with her checking the handkerchief. Surprisingly there are no petals, no clumps of blood staining the cloth in her hands.

"Hanahaki?"

"Hm?"

"You…oh, gosh, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to…um. Never mind."

Sumia almost takes the other woman's hand; she looks absolutely mortified. "No, it's…it's alright," she says. "You're the first person to name it for what it is since I…since it started, for me."

Olivia looks at her with such warmth that she knows she's dealing with someone who's dealt with this before. Perhaps not personally, herself, but close enough. "You're very brave."

"Oh, no, not at all! I'm…actually a coward, really," she says, because it's true. Because she could have told Cordelia that time over the phone, "not-an-over-the-phone" conversation be damned. Because she could have asked Robin if…no.  _ Stop  _ that. "Yep. Just a coward. That's me. Nothing brave about me."

Her water bottle appears before her eyes, plunked down in place by a very apologetic looking Robin. "I'm sorry, 'Mia, there was a long line up so I figured I'd go to the fountain by the rec room upstairs, instead, and yeah…Mistake. And also, how many time do you think I'll need to tell Virion that just because I’m bi doesn’t mean I’m interested before he stops doing that weird thing he does with like,  _ all _ women?" Olivia giggles, charmed undoubtedly, by Robin and her openness. Robin smiles, the faint suggestion of embarrassment traced in the barely-there lines about her eyes. "Oh, wow. My apologies. Hi, I'm Robin."

Olivia's cheeks burn darker pink than they had before, and Sumia laughs and smiles too. She gets it, really. Robin's just that charming, and ridiculously good-looking, and funny whether she's intentionally trying to be or…oh,  _ Naga _ . Stop doing that. Sumia. No.

"I'm Olivia. You, um…you work in our department, right?"

"…Oh. Yeah. You're to be beside Sumia, then?"

Olivia nods, smiling. "Yes."

Robin does a strange sort of move to get into her chair that still manages not to looks stupid, mouthing "new girl" to Sumia before she turns back to Olivia with a cheeky grin. She looks just as impish as she had years ago, during that orientation week that had brought her and Sumia back together after years of no contact. "They're testing you, Olivia. Trying to see if you've the determination to pull through. See," Robin says, still grinning as she pushes Sumia's water bottle closer to her, "This one here? Your new seat mate? She's trouble of the worst sort."

Sumia could just choke on the cool water running down her aching throat. Instead, though, she swallows down the gulp already in progress and gives Robin a look as soon as she's done. "Me? What about  _ you _ ?"

" _ Me _ ? Why, what about me?" Robin flashes her famous killer grin and even Sumia has to admit that it works. Like, really works. "I'm just your average token office bisexual, really."

Olivia flushes at that and something clicks in Sumia's head. She's not exactly sure, but…maybe? "Does that make me the token office lesbian then?" She watches Olivia's face as she poses the question, wondering if the other woman seems nervous for the reason she suspects or if it's something else entirely.

"Oh, right, right," Robin say, in a tone that feels like a wink between friends. "I mean, does it?" Sumia thinks she sees Olivia shake her head a few times, but Robin only smiles and carries on. "Anyway, enough about us. What made you decide to join us in our own little corner of hell."

"Robin!"

"What?!"

She shakes her head. "Don't mind her, Olivia. For someone so smart, she's a bit of a dunderhead."

"Ah, my sweet 'Mia, you're the only person I know under fifty who genuinely uses the term dunderhead instead of just calling me an idiot like you must surely want to."

Olivia blushes again, and Sumia wonders how she's not lightheaded yet. The amount of wondering she's doing at least takes her mind off the feeling in her throat. "I…um. No, it's nice, actually." Olivia pulls herself up from somewhere within, or it least that's what her focused expression makes Sumia think she's doing. "People at my old job weren't as friendly. Or open. And accepting."

The rest of the lunch hour passes in conversation, and Sumia coughs a few times without blood or petals clogging her throat. The coughing persists throughout the rest of the day, but still, nothing appears. She fills her water bottle twice more after lunch, chasing the strange prickling dryness away as best she can.

Olivia is a quick learner, and despite her general timidity Sumia feels that in the short time they've spent together, the other woman has already opened up. She doesn't treat Sumia like she's fragile, either, which is much more appreciated than Sumia would have thought it could be, coming from a virtual stranger.

  
  


"See you tomorrow," she says as she and Robin turn to the staff parking lot. Olivia waves and bids them a pleasant evening before heading toward the bus stop with a few of their other floormates. "So," Sumia begins as the pink-haired woman gets lost in the sea of people, "what do you think?"

Robin only smiles and shakes her head by way of answer as she opens the passenger door for Sumia. There's a sort of far-off look in her eyes that's difficult, if not impossible to understand. She doesn't push. Instead, Sumia keeps silent, doesn't repeat the question as Robin slides into her own seat.

Robin's forehead crinkles in the middle, just a little, and Sumia has to stop herself from trying to guess what her friend is thinking. Robin will tell her sooner rather than later, after all. Once she's ready.

They pull out of the staff parking in a record ten minutes, at which point Robin turns to her and says, "Want to go for dinner?"

Her stomach grumbles and she tries to cover it up with a laugh. "Sounds good. Stahl's?"

"Stahl's it is!" Robin nods an affirmative as well and guides her car into the right lane. "My treat today."

If she were someone else, she might make a joke. Might says something bold, perhaps even suggestive, in the same vein as friends who tease each other in that way. She and Robin are certainly close enough. But she doesn't do that, because she's Sumia.

 

Instead, she fumbles over her words as she tries to insist that she can pay for herself, or that she should actually be the one treating Robin, if anything.

 

Robin only laughs, tilting her head just-so, so that the sun sets her white hair on fire. She waves off Sumia's fumbling and tells her not to worry about it. That she's happy to do it. "I barely have the heart to spend money on myself, so please, at least allow me the pleasure of spending it on a meal with a dear friend."

It's a very Robin thing to say, and she finds she has no argument for it.

Stahl's diner is quiet, which is strange considering it's only Wednesday and it's about the time when people are coming off work in this area. Not that she's complaining. They don't see anyone they know aside from Stahl and Donny, which is to be expected of the owner and the owner's boyfriend. Donny waves at them and tells them to choose a seat wherever they'd like, he'll be with them right away.

She slips her hand into Robin's without thinking about it, and a lovely smile blooms on the other woman's face.

"Whatcha hungry for today, ladies?" Donny asks as soon as they've settled into their usual corner booth. Sumia doesn't have to think about the smile that appears on her own face at the sight of him; Donny's always been a sweetheart.

"Oh, I'm not too sure. Any specials? Soup and sandwich combos I should know about?"

Donnel laughs, "Well Robin, as just so happens yeah. Soup and sandwich combo today is tomato soup and grilled cheese," he says, and Sumia grins at the way he says tomato, with an "ah" at the end. "Best stuff this side of Ylisse I reckon."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he says, casting a lovesick glance at the kitchen before winking at them, every inch the charming farmer's son he's always been. "Just don't go tellin' my ma I said so."

Robin laughs, and Sumia gets caught up in it too. "I'll have that then. And you, 'Mia?"

"I-I'll have the same!" Soup should be good for her. Good for her throat.

Donny nods, whistling as he walks away to drop off their ticket with Stahl. Robin is quiet for a minute, maybe two. Then, she turns to Sumia with a thoughtful smile on her lips. "How are you feeling, by the way?"

"I'm okay."

"You were coughing quite a bit today."

"But…nothing came out," she says. "Did that ever happen to you?"

Robin's phone rings, the sound of Plegian string instruments bouncing about their booth. Robin flips it over, face down on the table. "During which case?" 

There's something in Robin's voice that sounds strange, suddenly, but she's too curious—and also slightly worried—to dig into it. Instead she shrugs, bad habit though it is, and says, "I…guess any of them?"

Robin looks at her, and there's something strange in her gaze too. She shakes her head, opens her mouth, but stops as Donny shows up with their food. Gesturing to Sumia to eat, she makes a sign over her own meal with her hands. Bows her head.

Sumia knows by now that Robin, while not particularly devout, always offers thanks for her meals in the traditional Plegian fashion. She bows her own head too, waits until she can hear the first clink of Robin's spoon against the bowl before she reaches for her own.

"You know you don't have to join me in that, 'Mia," Robin says. If Sumia didn't know any better, she'd think the other woman were embarrassed.

She stops herself from trying to take Robin's hand across the table, instead settling on a smile. "I know I don't have to, but it's important to you. I'm not going to starve if I wait with you."

Robin smiles back around a spoonful of soup, and they eat in relative silence. 

Her throat feels funny again, like there's something in the way, but she manages with relatively little difficulty. True to her word, Robin treats her, though she slips Donny the tip herself before the other woman can take care of that, too. It's only fair. They've gone out for lunch or dinner at least ten times this month already, and though it's usually Stahl's or someplace as relatively low-key, she's only paid three times.

And not for lack of trying, either!

Robin is all smiles, albeit quiet ones, as she drives Sumia home. Sumia feels off, suddenly, the way she thinks Robin must be feeling. 

 

It isn't until she's brushing her teeth that night that she realizes why she feels this way.

Robin has had surgery four times for hanahaki; there's no way she can remember how she felt. She can't remember any of it, something that her best friend had so carelessly forgotten. And yet Robin is always thinking of her, always considerate of Sumia’s feelings.

She tries to send the other woman a text, just something quick to apologize for being so rude, except that she can’t do it. And it wouldn’t help. It would only make Robin feel stranger, feel worse.

 

Her throat itches throughout the night, and Sumia doesn't sleep at all.

  
  
  



	5. spring buds

Today is the day. Cordelia is finally coming home. It's been months too long, far too long. Sumia has missed her best friend terribly.

The fact that she's desperately in love with said best friend has only exacerbated her loneliness.

Her phone buzzes from its place on her nightstand, and she stretches as far as she can to grab it. It takes some doing, but she manages, and the first thing she sees is a text from Robin.

 

**From: Robbi - 8:51am**

2day's the day!

 

Of course Robin would comment on it. Of course she would. Sumia smiles to herself as the calendar banner running across her screen blares with "Cordy's Home!"

 

**To: Robbi - 8:52am**

I know. I'm so nervous though…

 

**From: Robbi - 8:54am**

Don't be! It's Cordy!

 

**To: Robbi - 8:55am**

Yeah, exactly!

 

**From: Robbi - 8:57am**

LOL don't b nervous. Enjoy ur day w/ her <3

 

She sighs, smiling despite herself. Robin is right. No reason to be nervous. It's Cordy, her best friend since forever—or at least since they were five, which is basically forever.

She puts her phone back on the nightstand, ignoring the fuzzy feeling in the back of her throat. It's been a few days since she stopped coughing up petals, and frankly she's starting to get a little worried. It can't be that the disease has run its course, because then she would either be dead or in a hospital room, recovering. Or in Cordelia's arms, not that such a thing is possible.

Not right now, or ever, really, because Cordelia doesn't love her like _that_.

She sighs, noting that there's a slight rattle to her breathing, a whisper of it, really. Concerning. But she can't stop to think about it now, and the last time she'd Googled hanahaki symptoms she'd come away with an almost overwhelming feeling of dread. She forces a few more deep breaths through, and the rattle subsides until she can't notice it anymore.

Sumia stretches her arms up toward the ceiling, giving herself an extra minute or two to just enjoy sitting in bed, under the covers. It's getting warmer, now, and she's looking forward to spring, mild though the winter had been. With a sigh that's mostly content she swings her legs clear of the bed, sliding her feet into her soft, warm slippers as she makes for the bathroom.

As she prepares for the day, she watches herself, and wonders, not for the first time, what could possibly make Cordelia want to love her as more than a friend.

She has decent hair. It's the first thing she thinks of, really. Decent, not good, _certainly_ not great, but nice enough on a good day. Long, bouncing ash-brown curls and bangs that don't look awful. Decent.

And she's got a cute enough nose, maybe, and also an okay mouth. Her eyes are fine. There's nothing wrong with her.

Nothing spectacular about her, either, but then, she's just Sumia. No one of note or importance, not particularly successful or wealthy or…she's just. Sumia. Not _him_.

Not the man Cordelia loves.

Her phone buzzes from the nightstand, and she hurries over to it, bumping into the door frame as she does. That's probably going to bruise. Worth it though, she thinks as she answers the call, her voice coming out more breathy than she thinks it should when she says, "Good morning!"

"Good morning, Su." Cordelia laughs, the sound bringing such a burst of joy to Sumia's heart that she's almost embarrassed. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"N-no! Of course not!" Granted, she's been having…strange dreams lately. But that's beside the point. Nothing's happening. Sumia's not…she's not interested in something casual, or in someone who isn't the woman on the other end of the call.

Cordelia laughs again, the warm, gentle tease of it a balm for Sumia's nerves. "Well alright then." She stops, and Sumia hears the sounds of a busy place, announcements that sound fainter in her ears than they must be to Cordelia's. "We're going to be stopped-over in Plegia for about an hour, and then we're flying straight home. Should be cleared of customs and everything by one, maybe two. Shall I meet you at yours once I'm free?"

Right. For lunch. Cordelia had promised they'd have lunch together as soon as she came back, and she's so good and Sumia's so blessed that such a woman is her best friend. "I can come get you!"

"Are you sure?" The concern in the other woman's voice is soft. "You don't have to do that, Sumia."

Sumia shakes her head, though she knows Cordelia can't see her. "I don't mind, really."

"If you're sure…" Cordelia still sounds like she's trying to come up with an excuse. "You really, really don't have to do that though, Sumia. I can just get a ride with Sully." It would make sense; Sully's only two floors down from her, after all. But still, if _she_ goes to pick Cordelia up, then that’s even more time spent together.

She stops, wonders if it really would be fine for her to go to get Cordelia herself. She hasn't driven since…well. Not for a while. Not for a long time, really. But it's not like she doesn't remember how to, and her license is still in good condition. It hadn't been her fault last time.

It hadn't been. It _wasn't_. The judge and the doctors and everybody else had gone out of their way to make sure she was aware of that.

"Sumia?"

"You-you have a good point. Maybe it _would_ be best for you to grab that ride with Sully…"

Cordelia sounds soft, as if Sumia is the only person in the world she's thinking of in this moment. "I'll see you soon. You just relax. Think of where you'd like to go for lunch, or if you just want to order in. Whatever you like, how does that sound?"

"Great! I'll see you soon! Have a good flight!" If it sounds forced, Cordelia doesn't comment, and Sumia stares at the phone in her hand as the call ends. She's pathetic. Cordelia's probably thinking the same thing right now. Probably wondering why she's friends with a woman like Sumia.

She tries her best not to think about it, finishing up with the morning's preparations with a look of mild concern on her face. It's been months since she last saw Cordelia, the business trip having been extended again and again, then even longer still.

She looks…well, certainly not better than she had when she and a few friends had gone and seen Cordelia and the others off. Splashing more cool water on her face, she sighs. She's only got a few more hours, so maybe it wouldn be wisest to just hang around in her pajamas for a little bit before getting dressed. She doesn't want her dress—the one she most definitely hadn't planned to wear weeks ago—to get wrinkled.

Patting her face dry, she stumbles back over to her bed, cursing how inviting the sunlight makes her bed look. It couldn't hurt to…no, but then she'll have to clean herself up all over again. No, best to just make the bed and then eat a little something. Or maybe, since her throat is actually starting to hurt, maybe just a nice hot cup of tea.

 

She's two cups of tea in and should probably be getting dressed soon when something in her throat shifts in a way that's completely unfamiliar. She races toward the bathroom, spilling some hot tea, though thankfully mostly on her hand. She can deal with it later.

"Oh, please, don't!" She's not sure who she's talking to, or what she's asking, but it's too late, anyway.

The pain is…indescribable, is the first word that comes to mind, except that that isn't true. To call it indescribable would be facetious. She could probably decide on a description easily.

She just doesn't want to do it.

Her throat crawls, whatever it is that's hurting her climbing up, forcing its way out. It feels like…she doesn't know. It just hurts. She forces herself to remain calm, trying to remember if she'd ever seen Robin or Cordelia in a similar situation.

The other women are far better at keeping up the appearance of normality and health than she. It's hard to believe, sometimes, that Cordelia is sick, when she keeps her illness, her suffering so tightly under wraps. Robin, too, had never, ever shown Sumia how deeply the disease ran. Four times, she'd hidden the depths of her pain. Even from Sumia.

She sighs, the sound coming out more like a gravelly gasp than anything else. The rattling in her chest is unlike anything she's ever heard coming out of her own body. It reminds her, albeit faintly, of Gaius.

She clutches the sink, cursing herself for having gotten so comfortable without the petals. She has hanahaki. It isn't just going to go away. What had she even been thinking?

Whatever's happening to her, she's starting to find it very, very hard to breathe. It's too early to die, isn't it? She's been trying so hard to fight it, trying so unbelievably hard to survive, to hold on to the life she's been living.

A noise, so terrible it causes a shiver down her spine, rips free of her throat, rolling up and through her. The pain, always there, intensifies to a point where she's not sure she'd be able to stand if she were to let go of the sink. Whatever has been steadily clawing its way up from her chest continues to move, slamming against the walls of her throat, choking her. It hurts. So much. It's building up, forcing her to breathe through her nose as panic bubbles up in her stomach.

She hovers over the sink, every inch of her body tense, on alert. Every single part of her screams out its fear. Her gaze snaps up to the mirror and she shudders despite herself. Her face…this is the face of which nightmares are made, surely. She screws her eyes shut against the image, aiming her mouth for the sink as her legs quiver and her arms begin to shake.

Then, Sumia begins to cough and retch, sounding more beast than human.

The noise frightens her more than she would have thought her own body could ever do. And the pain. Starbursts of light explode behind her tight-shut eyes. The sounds of her retching continue, and with it, the soreness of her throat only grows all the more unbearable. Whatever it is, she wants it out. Gone. Anything but this pain, please.

Please, Naga.

Whether it is the Goddess's intervention or simply a matter of time, she retches again and this time, there is release.

Petals clumped together with blood and gunk burst from her mouth. Her eyes are pricked with tears, whether all of them of pain or relief she couldn't say. For a moment, she almost smiles, though her face is a mess of blood and tears, and her throat aches still, as if she's been strangled from within.

Then she retches again, and this time, it isn't just bunched, bloody clumps of petals that fall from her open mouth. Sumia closes her eyes again against the rough, small edges of whatever it is she's vomiting up. She won't look.

Doesn't want to look.

Doesn't want to see.

Her entire body shakes from the force of each rattle of her chest, every single rolling, stuttering gasp. Please, Naga, let this end. She can't bear…she doesn't have the strength. Her legs won't hold her for much longer. Her arms are already numb.

Her phone buzzes on the kitchen counter, where she'd left it.

Sumia can barely move.

 

The heaving and retching subsides eventually, after what feels entirely too long. She opens her eyes slowly, too afraid of what she'll find. As the flashing colours fade, allowing her an unobstructed glimpse of her realty, she cries out.

More than half of her sink is filled with the clumped, bloody bunches of petals, but peppered in, blood so dark it's black coating them, she sees them.

_Flower buds._

It's the first time she sinks to the floor as she cries, her knees giving out from underneath her. She can deny it no longer. And she'd gone so far as to believe, even for a second, that she was getting better? Stupid! Idiot. Why would she ever get her hopes up that way?

How stupid could she possibly be?

Of course she isn't going to magically get better. Not when she's only in this situation because of love. Love for Cordelia, so wonderful and beautiful and so—close to being here.

Sumia doesn't know what possesses her, but she scoops handfuls of the bloody petals and buds up and into the trash can. Cordelia will be here sooner rather than later. She has to get ready, has to get rid of everything bloody and awful and indicative of her condition. Except, wouldn't it be better to say something now?

She can't. She won't. But she's been thinking a lot lately, and she doesn't know what would be worse. Telling Cordelia, and receiving the awful, polite rejection she knows would follow, or…dying. For a love left unspoken. Like a heroine in a tragedy.

Horribly romantic but, unfortunately, pathetic in the same breath.

Robin's face springs to mind. Robin, who would, and did cut out her own love. Four times. Four times, she put herself second, in a way, savin her own life at the cost of such a beautiful feeling. Four times she did it, quietly, only after she could suffer no more, all to avoid disrupting the lives of the women she'd loved. Could Sumia do that? Could she be as brave?

As selfless in that strange, almost twisted way?

She doubts it; there's no way. As blood and all sorts of debris off the petals and buds collects under her fingertips, she realizes just how hopeless she is. Sumia isn't Robin, or Gaius. She will hold on to her love until it kills her, and never breathe a word of it to Cordelia.

She could never guilt the other woman that way.

That's a selfless act in itself, isn't it?

 

It takes her half an hour to clear up her sink, then another half hour to fix her face. Dressing isn't as painfully slow a process as all of that, thankfully. But now her hands won't stop shaking.

Her fingers tremble as she fixes the straps of her dress for the fourth time—or is it the fifth? Trying to ignore the tickle that's most likely never going to leave her alone now, she tries to buttom up the cardigan she's thrown on.

It may be spring now, sort of, or as near as not to it, but she's always been a tad delicate to the chill of the Ylissean spring breeze. She slips a hand under the cardigan to fix one of the straps again. Tries once more to button up the cardigan.

Her hands shake too hard; it's better just to leave it.

There's a knock on her door. Then, a buzz. All thought flies from her head save for one. Cordelia. She's finally here.

She's finally home!

Whatever's happening to Sumia now, it doesn't matter. She can wait. Deal with it all some other day. Any other day than today.

She practically tears her door open, all but throwing herself into Cordelia's open, waiting arms. The other woman laughs, and Sumia feels her heart leap as soft lips touch both her cheeks.

"Oh, Su. I've missed you so, so much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Isn't this fun? Thanks to everyone who's read this so far, I promise, I'm nowhere near done but _do_ actually know where this is going!
> 
> Now, I've got an hour before boarding (Chicago weekend, wooooooo) and I've got most of chapters 6 and 7 done, so maybe there will be another update soon. If not, slightly less soon.


	6. dried white roses

"She's been home for what, a week now? Two?"

"A week and a half," Sumia says, curling up on the armchair. It's one of her favourite pieces of furniture in the world, which makes the fact that it isn't hers that much worse. Of course, as with most of her favourite furniture in the world, it's at Robin's place. She likes Robin's place. Everything is so cozy, the perfect mix of well-worn and well cared for.

Robin opens her mouth, the shape of an "Ah," forming. 

Sumia stretches out, then curls up again, cutting the other woman off with a half-yawn, half-sigh. "Please don't say what I think you're about to say."

Robin laughs gently as she hands Sumia a bowl of popcorn that's at least as large as the pillow she lets go of to accept it. "And what was I about to say, anyway?"

"You were going to tell me that I should tell her, that I shouldn't hide how sick I am from  _ her _ , of all people."

Robin watches her for a moment, hovering the way she always does when Sumia most needs her to. She smiles, shaking her head, then smooths back some of Sumia's hair so that she can press a kiss to Sumia's forehead. Sumia closes her eyes against the soft, soothing pressure. "I was actually just going to say that I'm a bit hurt she hasn't done much more than text me every day, but you know what? That too."

"Robin," she groans, drawing each syllable out until she starts to feel just the slightest bit foolish about it.

"Sumia," Robin says, singing Sumia's name in a manner that befits her namesake. "I'm just saying. You shouldn't feel like you have to hide something from her. She's  _ Cordelia _ ."

Sumia sighs, setting her bowl of popcorn down carefully on the coffee table before joining Robin on the couch. "But that's just it isn't it? She's Cordelia. We've been best friends ever since we were kids!"

"Shouldn't that make it easier?"

She bumps the other woman's shoulder softly with her own. "You know it doesn't." She sighs, suddenly upset by how whiny she sounds. How childish. How pathetic.

"Hey, nuh-uh. None of that. I understand." Robin pulls her close, sighing with what Sumia can only read as disappointment. She opens her mouth to say something, anything. To apologize, maybe, except that Robin beats her to it. "I'm sorry, Sumia."

"But…you? What for?"

"I keep on pushing you to tell Cordelia, even though I know that being in your situation can't be easy. That it's certainly  _ not _ easy, at all." She nestles into Robin as the other woman's hold tightens, just a little. "You know I'm here for you. I'll do my best to support you, always."

"I know," she says, slightly lost in the slightly sweet, soapy, sun-soft smell that she's always associated with Robin. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I'm sure you'd be just fine. You're a lot stronger than you think, 'Mia." Robin drops a light kiss on her hair. "You'd be just fine, even without me."

Somehow, she doubts that. Without Robin, she'd probably have given up, already. Might have just let herself wallow in the despair of her ill-fated love and been done with it. "I'd be lost without you, Robin."

"Hey, come on. That's my line," Robin says. She holds Sumia closely, in a way that feels specific to her, now. Nobody else holds Sumia quite the same. "Do you want to talk about anything? Or would you just like to watch a movie? You choice."

"Didn't you want to watch something."

"We can do that later, or some other time. Your choice tonight." Robin rubs her arms reassuringly, and Sumia allows herself, even if just for a moment, to fall in love with her other best friend. For all their similarities, Robin and Cordelia have always, always affected her differently. Cordelia is…well, she's just so…Sumia can't quite describe it.

She's yet to came across a word that encompasses what lies past perfection itself; until then, she'll not have a single word for Cordelia.

Robin, however, is…she's just…Sumia pulls away from the other woman, just slightly, because she can't describe Robin in a single word, either. She's…like home, in a way, but “homey” is inadequate. Sumia can't explain it, can't begin to truly describe how safe, how warm, how much like herself she feels whenever she's with Robin.

Is it possible to love two people at once, and to suffer for loving them both?

_ Wait _ . Why is she thinking like this?

She loves Robin, she knows she does. But does she love Robin the way she loves Cordelia? Is it even worth it to go down that road, in her head? Or would she just be hurting herself even more?

"Sumia? Are you alright? Should I take you home?"

She clutches to Robin's arms, the cloth of the other woman's sleeves bunching up underneath her hands. "No. No, I-I'm fine." She clings just for a little longer, pulling as much comfort as she can from the other woman before she pushes off. Gently, of course.

It's harder than she'd thought it would be to let Robin go.

"Can we watch a musical?" She needs to be able to tune out. Her head hurts.

Robin laughs. "Dancing in the Snow?"

She beams as she picks up the bowl of now-cold popcorn. "How did you know?"

"I just know you that well, 'Mia." The soft smile on Robin's face is…stunning. What girl could claim to be so lucky as to have a friend as caring and special as Robin? Sumia may not be anything extraordinary, a fact with which she has long since reconciled herself, but to have a love like this from a friend like Robin is a blessing.

So what is she doing?

Sumia brushes away the question as she and Robin settle in to watch the movie, but she feels strange now. Off. As if she'd just done something she wasn't supposed to. It lingers in the back of her mind as the familiar sounds, songs, and scenes unfold before her, and she allows herself to enjoy it only once she's found a comfortable spot tucked in under Robin's arm.

 

After the movie, as she's rush-walking to the washroom while Robin gets the next movie set up, Sumia realizes what's bothering her. 

It's her. 

Her behaviour toward Robin, especially. It’s upsetting to her, on a level deep enough that she can only really acknowledge it to herself now because the other woman is nowhere in sight. Knowing her friend, knowing how easily Robin falls in love, she's still…acting like this.

But…acting like  _ what _ ?

She doesn't know where her mind had been going, or why she would even think that anything like that could be possible, but she shuts it all out with the closing of the washroom door.

 

On the way back, she looks up at the frames hanging in the hallway and freezes. Dried flowers. But not just any old blooms. There are four frames, their contents each distinctive in a way that makes Sumia’s heart squeeze into itself in her chest. 

There’s a tiger lily, magnificent even in its dried, drooping form. A brilliant orange that does little to liven Sumia's spirits. Say'ri had been Robin's first love, but despite the other woman's fondness, even Robin had had to admit that it was a lost cause from the start. How could a bond such as the one between Say'ri and Tiki be broken in favour of another? Robin had understood that, and they had been able to get the surgery done before things became quite so dire.

In the next frame there are a few heads of deep red hellebores, the wine-dark colour striking amidst the other, brighter flowers. Robin and Flavia had been close, closer than Sumia would have expected from two people so different. To think that they were even friends, let alone that Robin had found something to love about the other woman…well, it's not that it was unimaginable so much as that Sumia had wondered, back then, in the same vein as she so often wonders now. Sumia shakes her head and turns away from the hellebores. She had respected Flavia, but it would be stretch to say she had liked her.

The flowers beside those awaken a sadness in her that she had not expected. A few dried white roses rest there, framed with particular care. Sumia flinches at the sight of them. Robin had perhaps had the most difficult time with the woman who'd brought these about. Sumia doesn't want to think about it. All the nights she'd spent watching over Robin as she sobbed her heart's disappointment into Sumia's lap. All the days where it had seemed that perhaps, this time, things would be different, only for the bitter truth of the matter to make itself painfully, indisputably clear. 

Maribelle had suffered too, after all, and found some solace in Robin's arms, as something more than friends but not quite lovers. They had spent more time together than Sumia and Robin had back then, only for it to end in Maribelle's love being requited, leaving Robin alone, unconscious upon the operating table once again.

The last frame holds a stalk of blush pink snapdragons. For these, too, Robin had suffered greatly. She'd almost died before agreeing to the surgery. Said she could bear it no longer, would not like to live for a life like this anymore. Said that it would be better if she just died and finished it all. Dark days, those. Days she’d rather not think of again.

Sumia shudders, but she can't look away from the dried flowers in their frames. Why had Robin kept them? And how hadn't Sumia known?

"I can't remember the feelings, but I do know that…I do know that I  _ have _ loved before. Some days, I just need a reminder. A reminder that…um. That I can still do that."

"Robin!" She whirls around "I'm sorry, I-I—

"Hey, hey. Sumia, relax. It's fine. Are you alright?" Robin's smile is weary, her voice heavier than Sumia is used to it being.

"I…yes. I'm fine. Sorry. I'm not sure what's wrong with me today."

"Nothing's wrong with you, okay? Absolutely nothing."

Robin doesn't reach for her, giving her the space to decide if touch is what she needs. Considerate Robin, as always. As she steps into Robin's space and wraps her arms around the other woman, Sumia wonders if she's taking advantage, somehow. Even if she is, she's not sure how she could stop.

Some days it feels like Robin is all she has.

"Sumia?"

She steps away, then takes the other woman's hand, shaking her head. A faint smile plays across her lips. "I'll be alright." She doesn't know if she wants to bring up the flowers, to discuss them any more tonight. 

She can't.

They watch a few more movies in relative silence, Sumia tucked into the warmth that Robin so easily provides. She's far too tired to even think of making her way to the guest room, and thankfully Robin see that.

The other woman tucks Sumia in gently, putting a comfortable pillow under her head. Sumia falls asleep to a soft kiss on her forehead, a thought rolling through her mind with the quiet rumble of distant thunder.

"Why couldn't it be you?"

She's too tired to hear the reply to the question she'd unwittingly given voice. It's spoken softly, and more than a little reluctantly, but spoken into the soft curls of her hair with a sadness that mourns what will never be.

"I ask Grima the same all the time, ‘Mia."

 

She meets Cordelia for lunch two days later, a funny feeling in her chest as they sit across from each other. Robin has been just as supportive as ever, but she feels different. Distant, almost, lost in her thoughts. Even around Olivia, she's only been teasing Sumia half as much.

Something is wrong, and she can't say what, but she remembers hung frames and dried white roses. The whispers of something painful. Bittersweet.

"Sumia, is everything alright?"

"I-I…yeah, um. I'm fine," she says. "You were talking about the Plegian mountain views?"

Cordelia lifts one finely shaped eyebrow, pursing her lips briefly before the expression shifts into a concerned smile. When she takes Sumia's hand, Sumia could cry. Just like Robin, Cordelia just knows how to comfort her. It's pathetic, how much comfort she needs. 

She's not good enough for either of them. No way.

"I've talked enough about me, I think. But what about you, Su? I've been home nearly two weeks and you've barely told me anything about how you've been over the last couple months. I think it's my turn to be the audience."

"I don't really know what there is to tell," she says, staring at the napkin folded neatly in her lap. "I've been mostly just…the same."

"I'm sure there has to be something." Cordelia squeezes her hand.

Sumia's throat tickles, the sensation threatening her already fragile sense of calm. "I don't really know."

Hurt flickers across Cordelia's face, and Sumia's stomach flips with worry, That was her fault, that hurt expression just now. She hates it, how careless she is. Cordelia is just trying to make conversation. Why does she have to be so difficult about all of this?

Why can't she just have even a little confidence, like a normal person?

"Sumia? Oh, no, Sumia, it's okay. It's okay." Cordelia says, and it's only then that she notices her own hands are shaking. "It's alright. It's okay."

Cordelia doesn't let go of her hand even as she flags down a server with the other. "I think we'll just get this packed up, please. And I'll take the cheque as well, thank you."

"We don't have to go. I'm sorry, this is—

"No," Cordelia says firmly, her tone of voice brooking no argument. "I'm sorry for pushing you, Su. You're clearly uncomfortable, and that's on me. Please, let me take you home."

"No, I…no. Robin will worry if I don't come back to work. I'll just go back."

Cordelia's face morphs again, like she's not quite sure how she wants to react to that. "…okay. Let's go then?" She looks up at their server, nodding thanks at the neatly packed takeaway box. "Here, this is for you," she says, holding out a crisp bill to the server, who can't be more than seventeen. She's been good, completely deserving of the tip.

"You sure?"

"Take it," Cordelia says, her smile so warm it melts Sumia's heart. "And thank you, again."

"Yes, thank you!" she says, smiling as the teen walks away with a large, grateful smile.

Cordelia helps her up, holding out her jacket so it's easy to slip into. A few other diners smile over at them, and Sumia's cheeks burn. It isn't like that at all, no matter how much she'd like it to be.

The other woman is as markedly attentive as she always is, if a bit reserved in her tone. She keeps the conversation easy, light, and Sumia's stomach unclenches just as they roll into the drop-off area.

Cordelia opens her door. From the look on her face, she's trying not to be upset. "I'll see you after work?"

She'd love that, so that she can make up for her awful, embarrassing behaviour. Except, "I can't tonight, sorry."

Cordelia frowns, if only for a second. "Oh? Other plans?" She's trying to sound like it's fine, and it bothers Sumia that she's the one causing the other woman such distress. Cordelia doesn't get hurt so easily, aside from where  _ he's  _ concerned, and it breaks Sumia's heart to see it.

"Robin," she begins, not failing to notice the way Cordelia's eyes flash at their friend's name, "and Olivia. They…we're all going to see a movie. Do…um. Did you want to come? I'm sure they'd be glad to see you!"

"Oh, no, it's alright, I'd hate to intrude," Cordelia says. Sumia's chest tightens. "Text me later?"

"Of course," Sumia says, and she throws herself into the other woman's arms to avoid another awkward silence. "I'm sorry for being so weird today, Cordy."

Cordelia kisses the tops of her head. The itch in her throat shifts into an ache. "Don't apologize. My fault for being pushy. I love you, Su."

"I love you, too," she says, allowing herself to cling just a little longer. "I really love you, Cordy."

_ Just not the way you think I do. _

 


	7. an emptied garden

"It's been a month, eh?"

"Goes by fast, doesn’t it?"

Gaius laughs, the sound a little more like its former self. More joyful. Less forced. She smiles at hearing it. "You look good, Gaius." And he does. Much better than when she’d seen him last a few weeks ago, still too-skinny, with dark circles that went from his eyes to his cheekbones.

"Aw thanks, Stumbles." His grin is weary, but affectionate. "I can't wait to get back out into the world." Not that even a short excursion will happen too soon, but it’s good that he’s looking forward to it.

She laughs as he rattles off a list of things he's going to do as soon as the doctor declares his sentence of mandatory bed rest served. She sits on his bed, playing with his hair because he's asked her to. Robin and Cordelia watch him from the other side of the bed, and she knows they're watching her, too.

As it turns out, she's absolute rubbish at convincing either of her best friends that she's fine, that nothing’s wrong, that she’s _just fine and please understand that_.

"Excuse me a minute," she says, unable to meet anyone else's eyes but Gaius's. She has to cough, badly, but the bathroom is too close. Cordelia will definitely hear her. Or Robin, since she actually knows what to listen for in this case.

The sliding door to Gaius's backyard is open, his mother tending to the flowers she's always grown with such care. Sumia slips out, smiling as the woman looks up.

"Are you alright, dear?"

She shakes her head, gasping air into her lung as she does her best not to cough. They'll hear her. She can't let them hear her. Especially not Cordelia. Please, why _now_? And here she'd thought she was getting so much better at hiding it.

Gaius's mother takes one look at her and slides the door closed. She takes Sumia's arm and guides her over to the clubhouse Gaius's young brothers and sisters don't really use despite still being young enough to appreciate it. If that move surprises her, Gaius’s mother handing her a bucket nearly knocks all the buds out of her chest.

If only it could actually do that.

"Take all the time you need," says the older woman, leaving Sumia to herself as she closes the clubhouse door. Sumia could cry with her gratitude, except that she's too busy coughing. Her throat is killing her within the first few seconds, already raw from so much abuse.

She's been going overboard on cough drops and lozenges whenever she's around Cordelia, which, both to her discomfort and delight, has been much more often. The end result seems to be that now, she doesn't cough frequently. It just makes her—usually nightly—fits that much worse. That much more painful in a way that means that she hasn’t been taking this seriously, even though she has. She’s been taking her illness seriously, hasn’t she?

The familiar itching, tearing, aching pain rips through her as she sits on the wooden floor, hugging the bucket to her chest. It's awful. Absolutely awful.

Still, she forces her body to eject as many flower buds as it can. It's all buds now, no more petals, clumped together or not. Each one drops into the bucket with a dull _thunking_ sound that makes her feel even worse. It's endless, except that she's only been retching in the clubhouse for five minutes, at most.

"Stumbles?"

"G-Gaius!"

"Relax, it's just me, yeah." He hesitates, then asks if he can come in, in a voice that's far too bright and cheery not to be forced.

"It's your, _ugh_ , clubhouse."

He opens the door, gets in and closes the door again, all in one fluid motion. "Aw, shit." He watches her cough up a few stray buds before settling the bucket down. It's over. For now, at least. She leans back against the wall behind her, panting harder than she'd like to be.

After a few seconds of just listening to her, he grins, roguish. "Haven't had a girl panting like that in here for like, _years_."

She's glad she has enough energy left in her to laugh, even as her chest pounds with the effort of shoving him. "Gaius!"

"There's that beautiful smile 'a yours. Was beginning to miss it." His eyes soften, and he opens his arms up enough for her to scoot into a gentle hug. "How long?"

"Couple months." She mumbles it out, hoping he’ll miss it. “Just a couple months.”

" _That_ doesn't look like just a couple months." He eyes the buds in the bucket. "Somethin' tells me you've been fighting this much longer. At least half a year?"

"How do you know that?"

"The memories don't just die, yunno. They're still there for now, fading, and _fast_ , but I do remember bits and pieces." He sounds at peace with the whole thing, which is good. "It's been an experience, lemme tell ya."

"You sounded like Robin, for a minute," she says, wiping her mouth.

He laughs. Doesn’t say anything, even though she can tell that he’s flattered by the comparison. "Nice handkerchief. Bit more red than I might’ve expected from you. But it’s nice."

"You don't call them hankies?" she asks, genuinely surprised. She’d always pictured him as the kind of guy to say _hanky_.

He shudders. "No, and I hate that word."

"Hanky? Hankies?"

"Stumbles!" He slaps his hands over his ears, grinning.

She laughs, the pressure in her chest more present than usual. She's getting worse every day, it seems. Every single day. How long until her lungs are crushed under the weight of the begonias budding beneath her skin? Cordelias, that's what they are, if she’s being specific. It's stupidly ironic. Stupidly poetic, almost.

"Hey, Stumbles, hey. I'm losing ya here," he says, reaching for the bucket. "Here, lemme go spread these around Mom's garden or somethin'. It'll turn inta fertilizer at some point, yeah?"

She doesn’t think that that’s how fertilizer works, necessarily, but he seems determined to do it, doctor’s orders or no. "I'll do it. You should be resting!" She takes the bucket and slips out of the clubhouse first. "Honestly…go back to bed!"

Gaius sighs, throwing his arms up in the air before grinning and folding them behind his head. "Aww come on. At least let me stay out here. Please, Stumbles? Pretty please?"

"Oh, fine then," she says, fighting the smile that crawls over her lips. He offers to carry the bucket, holding up his hands in surrender when she threatens him with bed rest again.

It's nice, just walking around the garden, pouring buds all over in places that could use the eventual fertilizer that they'll become. Gaius's mother points out a few places that she could use extra help with, and thanks to them, Sumia is able to ignore the stains of red that remain on the bucket once everything is gone.

"I'll rinse it out," Gaius's mom says. "You two go back inside. I'm sure your guests are getting tired of entertaining your siblings."

"Sure, Ma. Sure."

He winks, pressing a kiss to his mother's cheek, and all but pulls Sumia back into the house, bellowing for his younger siblings. Cordelia and Robin burst from one of the rooms, a child on each of their backs, swinging a third between them.

Sumia could just die right here and now.

"You're all so cute!" she says, scooping up the third child—the newest addition to the household, and the youngest by far.

Gaius is a flurry of hair-ruffling and raspberry kisses on cheeks. "The three of you are monkeys! Absolute monkeys! Off now, you two," he says, his smile far too fond to feel even remotely scolding.

The children slide off of Robin's and Cordelia's backs, laughing, and Sumia allows the youngest to wiggle free, joining her siblings in tearing a wild path across the house.

"How are you feeling?" Robin asks, and Sumia gets the distinct feeling that the question isn't actually meant for Gaius.

"We're all good. Great!" he answers, pretending to give Robin a noogie until the white-haired woman nudges him off with a sly, "I'll remember that, Pumpkin Head."

" _Pumpkin_ Head? Cordelia! See how your friend abuses me!" He staggers back toward his bed, turning back toward them with a hand flung dramatically across his face.

"Is she wrong, though?" Cordelia asks, laughing behind her own hand as she and Robin exchange winks.

Sumia spends the rest of the afternoon in constant, gentle laughter, most of her attention focused on keeping her coughing under control. Cordelia and Robin turn to her more often than she think warranted, but it's fine. She'd be lying to say she doesn't enjoy their concern on some level, awful as that makes her feel.

When they drop her off at her place later, neither of them says anything. Instead, she gets two kisses placed on her hair, and promises to text or call her later. Two wishes for her to "sleep well, Sumia".

 

That's all it is. She's just being paranoid, worried that they think she's weirder than usual. That's all it is.

 

 

 

"You're getting worse, aren't you?" Olivia asks the next day, as they sort through the mess of emails that never seems to end. "You haven't see a doctor, or anything?"

The concern in the other woman's voice is plain, and she could cry at how genuine Olivia is. They've only been coworkers for about a month, three weeks really, if that, but she just really likes Olivia.

It doesn't make it any easier to articulate why she can't, or really, _won't_ , see a doctor.

"I don't…I'm just…I." She stops. Shrugs. Looks down at her keyboard, embarrassed.

"Oh, Sumia, I'm sorry. It's okay," Olivia says, and when Sumia looks back to her, the other woman's cheeks are flushed. "I-It's not m-my business really. I-I just…um."

"We're both just a pair of stuttering messes," she says gently, patting Olivia's hand as the other woman breathes out hard, clearly relieved. "I'm fine if it's you asking, Livvy. I just really don't know what to say."

Olivia nods, and the soft smile on her face makes Sumia feel just a little better. "I think you're incredibly strong, you know. And brave."

"Or just stupid and dangerously romantic," she says, falling flat in the middle of her own poor attempt at a joke.

Olivia turns bodily toward her, squeezing her hand with firm determination. "Please, Sumia, don't ever say that about yourself again."

 

_Please, Robin, stop saying such things about yourself._

 

_Cordelia, please, don't talk about yourself that way._

 

_No, Gaius, please don't say that about yourself, okay?_

 

"Sumia?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Was it my fault?" Olivia asks, and Sumia sees herself when she looks at the pink-haired woman. Granted, she's not so pretty, or anywhere near as fit, and definitely not even a whisper as graceful as Olivia, but—and this must count for something—there's still something about them that matches. That makes them kindred, in a way.

"It wasn't you, no. Well, I mean, you didn't do anything wrong. You just reminded me of something."

Olivia's hand is still clasped around hers, comforting in how real it is. How warm. "If it's okay, c-could I ask what I reminded you of just now?"

"You reminded me of me. Of what I used to be like, when I was... _better_."

Olivia blushes despite the faint frown on her face. "Really?"

"Really." She smiles, trying to hide her discomfort as the soreness in her throat kicks up another level. She'll have to deal with it soon. Get some of it out, at least. "You're just so kind, Olivia."

"Me? I…I mean, I try! But the way everyone talks about you, Sumia. I don't know if I could ever be as selfless as you!"

She wants to ask what the other means, when a single coughs distracts rumbles in her throats. A handful of flower buds falls from hr mouth, bloody and even grosser than usual; almost obscene from where she's sitting. She's never done this at her desk before. How embarrassing.

"Oh, Sumia!" Olivia sweeps the whole mess into her wastebin. "You go ahead to the bathroom. Let me take care of this mess."

"Are you sure?" She's burdening Olivia with all of this now, too. What kind of awful friend is she?

"Go, go," says Olivia. "I'll have your desk cleared up in no time."

Sumia sighs her thanks and heads for the washroom, smiling meekly at a few colleagues as they pass. She coughs again, raising her hand to her mouth in time to catch the few buds that come up. After a harrowing few seconds she removes her head, letting the buds plop into the toilet in her locked stall. One by one. Streaky lines of red coat her hand, but she ignores it. She's used to the blood by now.

She retches, hoping that this won't be one of those long, drawn out sessions where she's left dehydrated and exhausted. She hasn't even been at work for three hours yet, and she's already doing this. It isn't her fault, realistically, but still.

Robin had never been so obvious about her affliction.

Sumia had only known about her friend's illness because Robin had told her. Every time. She'd never had to clear off the other woman's desk while she ran off to vomit her lungs out. Poor Olivia. She's so kind. And what has Sumia ever done for her, aside from cause trouble?

"Hello? Are you alright in there?"

Maribelle? But why would…oh, right. Legal's washrooms are always either full, too dirty—by the blonde's standards, at least—or out of service. Sumia coughs up what seems to be the last of the buds for now. It takes her a few minutes to clean up, then another to steel herself.

She likes Maribelle, _really_ , but it's still upsetting to think that Robin could have been happy with her, maybe. Except that where love had failed Sumia's best friend, it had deigned to save Maribelle. Not that it's the blonde's fault. And she's always been kind to Sumia, in her way.

"I'm fine, Maribelle," she says as she pushes the door open. The other woman isn't hovering outside of the stall, thank Naga, rather she’s watching from the row of sinks. Sumia takes a deep breath and steps up to the one furthest from Maribelle, holding her hands low enough that she triggers the sensor right away. It doesn't stop the blonde from noticing the blood, but she'd rather not make more of a spectacle of herself than she already has.

The sort of vague, almost generic concern in Maribelle's eyes shifts into something far more personal. It makes Sumia's heart twinge a little, to think that the other woman actually cares. Yet another friend she doesn't deserve.

"Well darling, I must say, you certainly don't seem fine."

"I…it's just. I'm just a little sick."

"With hanahaki." Oh, right. Maribelle still remembers what it was like. The memories don't fade at all aside from what's natural if a case ends successfully without surgery. "Sumia, I know you and I aren't of particular closeness, but surely you know I would never judge you for something so out of your control."

Granted, Maribelle's generally a judgey sort of person, _actually_ , and yet Sumia _does_ know that. "You're right. I'm sorry, I've just been such a mess lately. Even more so than usual."

"It's the hanahaki, darling."

But it isn't. It's Sumia. Just Sumia, being too much of a Negative Nancy to pull herself out of this little funk of hers. Relying on her friends to cheer her up even though they're suffering, too. "It's just me. I'm being selfish."

Maribelle blinks back obvious surprise, most likely at how easily Sumia dumps that on her. Before Sumia can apologize for speaking so out of turn, however, the petite blonde takes her hand and gives it a companionate squeeze. "That's certainly not true. Now, I do have to be off in a few minutes, but perhaps you and I should talk?"

"I…" She should say no, but the only reason for it would be for Robin's sake. And Robin can't remember. "I'd like that."

"Excellent," Maribelle says, squeezing her hand again. "You take care of yourself in the meantime, Sumia. Ta for now, darling."

Sumie leaves; she remembers Maribelle's hang up about public restrooms well, even years after the last time they'd been in this situation together.

Her desk is spotless when she returns, Olivia smiling proudly at her from her own seat. Robin's there too, smiling widely at Olivia; her smile shifts when Sumia sits back down. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Okay." Even though she knows it wouldn't bother Robin, she doesn't mention running into Maribelle. Doesn't see the point. "I shouldn't have another episode at work today." She can still gauge when it'll happen, most of the time.

Robin hops off her perch on Olivia's desk and comes over to give Sumia's arm a squeeze. "You still up for the movie tonight?" Olivia nods, eyes fixed on hers. Hopeful. They've all gone out together quite a few times now. It's been great fun on every occasion.

She's about to answer when her phone pings, the familiar tone causing her to reach for it with a jerky motion.

 

**From: Cordy - 11:15am**

 

Dinner at mine tonight, Su?

 

"I can't tonight, ladies," she says with a sigh. "Sorry."

The disappointment in their eyes stings, and she only feels worse. Instead of enjoying the night with her friends, she's gone and chosen to hurt herself with Cordelia's presence. It's pathetic, but Sumia can't help what she wants in this moment. Maybe this is what she needs, to stop feeling this way. She doesn’t know if it makes sense, but that’s what she’s going with.

 

At the moment, it feels like that’s all she’s got.

 


	8. by any other name

For the first time in ages, she doesn't feel sick at the mere thought of spending an evening alone with Cordelia. Not sick in a repulsed way, of course, but in a "I'm about to throw up because I love you and it makes me nervous" way. Not that she's ever going to tell that to Cordelia. No, she's just going to have a pleasant night with her childhood best friend. That's all.

_ And don't go and muck things up like you always do, Sumia, seriously. _

"How did you get here, Su?" Cordelia asks almost as soon as they've parted from their greeting hug. "Did you drive?"

"No," she says right away, unsure if she's touched or slightly annoyed by Cordelia's concern. She's touched, mostly, but still. She hasn't been behind the wheel of a car in a few years. It's not the sort of thing she'd even  _ consider _ trying again without running it by multiple people first. "I took the bus."

"I'll drop you home later, then, unless you want to sleep over. Guest room is ready for you, as always." Cordelia's smile is as disarming as ever, and within moments she forgets why she'd been so crabby. A vague, taunting whisper reminds her of how all that business about driving had even started, but Cordelia takes her hand. She manages to push the thought away.

"How was your day?" she asks as Cordelia leads her to the table. It's set perfectly, as always, even the napkins folded with an artistic grace Sumia could never manage. "Has everyone settled into the swing of things back home?"

"For the most part, yes, I'd say so," says Cordelia as she helps Sumia into her chair. Sumia smiles her thanks, frowning a little when her best friend turns suddenly pale, excusing herself. The hanahaki. She's carried it for two years; so much longer than Sumia, and yet she still has some semblance of control.

Sumia amuses herself with studying the fancy napkin on her plate. It's folded up in an intricate, twisty shape that she can't figure out. Leave it to Cordelia to pick up yet another talent, small though it might seem. Cordelia returns a few minutes later, an apology on her lips. It isn't necessary, and Sumia tells her so.

"You're always far too kind to me, Su," says Cordelia. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, easily visible against the pale porcelain of her skin. "Whatever did I do to deserve you?"

Sumia is certain her own cheeks have burst into their best imitation of Cordelia's hair. "I'm only as kind as you deserve." She fiddles with the napkin a little more. This feels funny, somehow. As if she's missing something, almost, except that that's usually the case anyway. It's never really bothered her before. "Cordy?"

"There are some things I need to tell you, Su," Cordelia begins. She sounds so serious, in a way Sumia has only heard her sound a handful of times in the two decades—give a few years—that they've known each other. She's a little worried, admittedly, but she forces herself to be calm, to look Cordelia in the eye with the same patient, understanding, welcoming smile.

"Is everything okay? Are you well?"

"As well as I can be, I think. But, Sumia, before I—" Cordelia's phone rings, and she looks as if she's about to curse before she reads the caller ID. As soon as she does that, she casts Sumia an apologetic smile and walks away, into the kitchen. Sumia doesn't try to eavesdrop or anything, but she hears Cordelia sigh, hears how her friend's voice shifts into shapes it only does when Cordelia speaks to  _ him _ .

It's definitely him, too, and Sumia hates herself for feeling so jealous as she does. If she could help it, she would, except that she's lying if she says that and tries to pass it off as truth. It would be easier, she muses, if he were a bad guy. Except that he's not even that. Not in the slightest.

He's one of Gaius's best friends, too, for Naga's sake!  _ Gaius _ ! 

Sure, the man is dense, and oblivious, and completely unaware of how much Cordelia loves him. Sure, he’s almost as clumsy as Sumia and sometimes sounds like he’s not sure of what he’s saying even though his words carry weight and should be carefully chosen, but Chrom is a good man. Which only makes all of this suck even more.

Cordelia wraps up the call within minutes, returning to her seat across from Sumia after a quick flurry of what sounds like her checking on the wonderful smelling whatever-it-is that she's cooking. "I'm so sorry, Sumia. There are some things Chrom needs me to check on tomorrow morning, but both he and Frederick will be in meetings all day, so. Anyway, it's nothing important, I'm sorry. Where were we?"

"You had something you wanted to tell me," she says, but it's no use. Her best friend's eyes have that far away quality they usually get whenever she speaks to Chrom. Sumia clears her throat and tries again, hoping to at least steer some of Cordelia’s attention back onto herself. "What are you making, by the way?"

Cordelia smiles at her. "Rosemary-garlic roast beef, and potatoes, with some other assorted vegetables. You look like you could do with a hearty meal, Su."

Sumia ducks her head. It's true that she's been losing weight, and not in the healthiest way, either. A hearty meal would be nice instead of the simple soups, salads, and sandwiches she's been making in her kitchen every day of the week. "It sounds lovely."

Cordelia's fond expression touches her heart, and as she says, "it's so good to spend some time together, just the two of us," Sumia's quite certain she could die happily. If only they could be like this forever. If only Cordelia could love her back, the way Sumia loves her.

The oven timer beeps and Cordelia rises with her usual calm, unhurried grace. As always, Sumia watches her with awe. It's always been something of a mystery to her, how she'd not come down with hanahaki much, much sooner. Cordelia has always been this lovely. Always been this perfectly wonderful in every conceivable way.

Perhaps it's Sumia who's dense.

Perhaps it's her fault, for not noticing her own feelings until it came down to it. Until it became painfully, glaringly obvious that Cordelia would never love her as more than a friend.

She hears both Robin's and Olivia's voices in her head, telling her not to give up; the illness she carries is making her hate herself. Far more than she ever had before. She has to believe that. She wants to, truly, except that she's  _ scared _ . Because if that’s true, it means that all this self loathing is useless, that it would be better,  _ wiser _ for her to try her best to respect herself again. To love herself again.

 

How long has it been since she could have honestly said that she loved herself?

 

"Here we are," Cordelia says, and everything looks wonderful as she sets it all down between them. "Help yourself, Su."

  
  
  
  
  
  


For the first time in a while, eating doesn't seem like the painful, but necessary chore she's been treating it as since her hanahaki progressed.

  
  
  


She decides to spend the night, and her decision is only half-based on the way Cordelia's eyes pleased with her to stay. Were she a stronger woman, perhaps she could resist, but as it is it's a miracle she can accept the offer without quivering like a lovestruck schoolgirl. Cordelia's sunbeam smile is an unexpected blessing. Her hand in Sumia's is a gift.

"You have some pyjamas in the closet from last time," Cordelia says as they make the short journey to the guest room together. "I washed them before I left, along with my stuff, but then I guess I forgot about them."

"That's okay," she says, ignoring the tickle in her throat for the shimmering happiness taking up a spot in her heart. She's not sure what's changed, but the lingering awkwardness she's felt ever since Cordelia came home feels like the most distant of memories.

"I guess it's worked itself out, at least," Cordelia says. There's a light in her voice that Sumia loves, familiar and sweet. A part of Cordelia that's stayed true to the little girl she was. Back when hanahaki hadn't touched anyone they knew. "Do you want to get ready now? It's kind of early, but if you wanted to, I'd understand."

She shakes her head. Her shirt and cardigan aren't at all uncomfortable, and she'd rather spend the time with Cordelia. "Did you want to do anything in particular?"

"Not really," Cordelia admits, smile easy. "But I did want to talk to you." Sumia doesn't know why her worry flares at the sudden shift in Cordelia's voice, but she tries to ignore it. Nods. Cordelia is still holding her hand. Everything is fine. She's  _ fine _ .

"Sure, sounds good," she says. As she and Cordelia make their way back to the living room, she freezes. Realistically, Cordelia wouldn't still be smiling if something were wrong or strange between them. As Cordelia ashs her if she's sure there's nothing she wants or needs before sitting back down, she tries to relax.

She sits more stiffly than she normally would, suddenly nervous. And she'd been doing so well, too! Cordelia's hand finds hers again, and she relaxes. "Sorry."

"Are you…Have you been okay, Su?" Lately I just feel as if, well, as if you've been uncomfortable in my presence." Cordelia sounds far sadder than she looks, and Sumia's heart drops steadily. "I've done something, most likely, but if...If you could just tell me, I  _ promise _ , I'll make it up to you!"

"You've done nothing wrong, Cordy! I'm just. I don't. I." She can't say it. Can't say anything that would be helpful, or at least  _ useful _ to the conversation.

"Take your time, Sumia. Breathe. It's just you and I here. Nobody else." Cordelia's soothing voice washes over her, and Sumia leans into her touch, forcing herself to breathe. Conversation never used to be so difficult. Not with Cordelia, at least.

She breathes in again, matching each inhale, each exhale with Cordelia's. Cordelia runs a hand in circles over her back. Just like when they were kids. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I just want to know if you're okay."

"Cordy." This is it. Her perfect chance. If she doesn't say anything now, then she's truly a coward. But what should she say? And how can she say it without also telling Cordelia that's it's all because of how much she loves her?

She can't tell Cordelia that part. She  _ won't _ .

"Su? Do you…Should I take you home?"

Oh, shoot, now she's gone and disappointed Cordelia. Of course. Not like she could do anything right, for a change.  _ Woman up, Sumia. Just tell her. _ "No, I. I want to stay."

Cordelia doesn't look all too certain. "Only if that is what you really want to do. Maybe you should at least get ready for bed?"

Cordelia already suspects she's sick. It would be so easy to just tell her, now. The opening she needs is right there, peeking out at her from under Cordelia's concern. She nods. "You're probably right. I must be more tired than I thought."

"You go ahead, and take your time. I'll meet you back here."

She wants to ask if Cordelia is going to prepare for bed too, except that she already knows she will. Cordelia's always done her best to make Sumia feel comfortable. Always done her best to make Sumia feel like she isn't burdening anybody.

  
  


If she takes a little longer than usual getting dressed and brushing her hair and teeth, Cordelia doesn't mention it. Only pats the sofa beside her until Sumia moves to sit. "If you don't want to talk about what's bothering you, we don't have to. Just please, tell me, have I done something to upset you?"

"No!" Not purposefully, at any rate.

Cordelia breathes a sigh of relief and pulls Sumia in for a hug. "I'm glad." She doesn't say anything, doesn't release Sumia either. Sumia could stay there forever, if given the chance, except of course the universe hates her.

Sumia is coughing before she knows what's happening. She has just enough time to whip her head away from Cordelia's, barely enough time to fold herself down, into the loose, flowing fabric of her shirt. She's somewhat conscious of Cordelia mumbling her concerns and rubbing her back, but the effort not to throw up consumes her every thought.

"Excuse me," she manages to mumble before throwing herself toward the kitchen. How could she have forgotten? She'd known earlier that this would probably happen, but of course, being with Cordelia had felt so nice. She'd let herself forget.

Cordelia holds her hair back, cooing words of gentle, warm support as Sumia loses her guts and another chestful of flower buds into an empty plastic bag. Dark, and deep enough that she can get everything out without Cordelia seeing that it’s not food and bile sickness. The bag is fairly bulging by the end, and Sumia looks at it with disgust as she ties it off. "I'll go toss this out for you."

"No," Cordelia says, voice firm. She takes the bag from Sumia. "You go freshen up, then drink some water. I'll be back in a moment."

 

When Cordelia starts to take charge, there's truly no arguing.

 

She still dreads Cordelia's return as she sits stock-still on the couch. Nervously, she brings her hands to her face, feeling around her mouth and chin for blood and slickness. Has she missed a spot? Maybe. She rubs her face with her sleeve, just to be sure. There's nothing there.

The door clicks shut, the reassuring thunk of the lock following soon after. She tenses. "Sumia?" Cordelia’s concern is carved into her voice.

"I'm sick!" she blurts out as soon as Cordelia comes into view. No sense trying to hide it, and with her nerves as shot as they are she worries. She can't keep dragging this out. Robin is right, and Cordelia deserves to know. Right now. 'I've been sick. For a while now." At least this much, she can say.

"Oh, Su," Cordelia murmurs, folding Sumia into her arm despite the dried blood flecks marking Sumia's clothes. "For how long?"

"Since before you left. But I wasn't really sure, for a while." Even though her feelings had made themselves clear almost as soon as she’d noticed how hollow she felt, in that first weekend with Cordelia gone. The disease currently performing a hostile takeover within her chest had started out mild.

Mild enough that she can remember fuzzy nights spent wondering how a stray flower petal had found its way to her pillow. She'd woken herself up coughing a few times, always failing to realize what it could have possibly meant until the day it finally all clicked together. After a call from Cordelia, of course.

"Have you seen a doctor? Talked about treatments?"

She takes Cordelia's hand this time, wondering if she's brave enough. Strong enough. Could she possibly do it? Have the courage to tell Cordelia how she feels? "I have hanahaki, Cordelia. And I'm not willing to take the kinds of treatment that any doctor could offer me."

A shadow flits across Cordelia's face, and for a moment her expression goes dark. Unreadable, even for Sumia. The moment passes so quickly that she can't be sure it had actually come to pass at all. "Hanahaki?" Cordelia's free hand rises, clutching gently at her own throat for a second.

Sumia nods. They're both crying, thin trails of tears mirrored across each other's cheeks. "Yes." She falls into Cordelia's arms with a grateful sigh. "I'm so sorry, I tried to tell you, I promise! I just—"

"Shh, there, there. I can't imagine I've been making it at all easy for you to talk to me." Cordelia's arms tense around her. 

Thank you for telling me now. Do…um, does anyone else know?"

She opens her mouth to answer, backing away only to avoid catching Cordelia's hair in it. "A few people."

Cordelia squeezes her more tightly, pressing them together with something like urgency. "I'm glad you haven't been going through it alone, at least."

Sumia sighs, nestling more deeply against Cordelia. She should have done this sooner, should have been honest from the beginning instead of trying to hide it. "I'm so sorry for not telling you before."

"No, don't be." Cordelia strokes her hair. "Only, Sumia, might I ask … Who is it?"

_ Now, Sumia, tell her. _ There's nothing holding her back. She can say it here and now and leave her life up to Naga. And Cordelia.

"I…" She can't do it. How could she? To hear a rejection would hurt her far too much. She can't say it.  _ Won't. _ Despite herself, however, she tries again. "I."

Cordelia must sense her hesitation, must feel the reluctance that's surging through her. "It's, um. It's alright, Sumia. You don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable."

"Thank you." What else can she say?

"Just know that I support you, no matter what, okay? I'll  _ always _ be here for you, Sumia."

There's a marked disappointment in her voice. Sumia's heart thuds unpleasantly in her chest. Cordelia must think she loves someone else. But should she correct that thought? She won't confess, not tonight. She can't tonight.

And maybe, though she doesn't want to admit it, maybe it's better this way. Better, at least, for Cordelia, which is what Sumia wants. If her suffering should keep the path open for Cordelia to find true love and happiness, then she will embrace it. Gladly, too. No point in guilting her best friend when said best friend is in love with someone else. And might have a chance to live happily, if the person of her choice would only drag his head up out of the sand.

"Thank you, Cordy. You don't know how much that means to me."

"I mean it, Su.  _ Anything _ for you. No matter what happens between you and the one you love, I promise you I'll stay. I'll be here."

 

It’s that thought that breaks her heart more than anything else.


	9. where flowers bloom, so too does ___

It takes her almost a month to tell Robin that Cordelia knows. She's not sure why. Robin is clearly pleased, happy to hear it, but something still feels strange in Sumia's chest. Robin is listening, obviously, and as attentive as usual, except there's a distance between them for some reason. It's been building up for a while, and she can't deny it any longer.

"So what happens now?"

"What do you mean?" Sumia fingers the pages of the book in her lap. She brought up telling Cordelia mostly by accident, but it's too difficult to feign nonchalance. Robin would see right through her anyway, and she doesn't want to lie to Robin.

Robin pauses the game she's playing, earning a groan from Gaius and a chuckle from Libra. "She knows you're sick. With  _ hanahaki _ . But does she know precisely why that is?"

"Robin, you shouldn't put so much pressure on her. You don't need to rush yourself into making any sort of final decision on the matter, Sumia." Libra's sincerity baffles her, as it almost always does.

She thanks him with a smile, expression softening further at the look on Robin's face. "It's okay, Robin," she murmurs. "I know it's because you're concerned for me. I'm just not ready to tell her."

"Kinda seems more like you just don't wanna tell her, Stumbles." Gaius chimes as he leans over, trying to grab Robin's controller.

"Touch it and you're a dead man, Pumpkin Head," says Robin, swatting his hand away. "I get it, 'Mia, really I do, but this thing isn't going to just slow down, right? It's killing you." The love in Robin’s voice stings. Why does it sting?

"I know," Sumia says, surprised to hear such finality in her own voice. She knows that. She  _ does _ . How can she not, when every single day she's reminded that she's dying?

Robin watches her face, dark eyes boring into hers with that particular intensity that never feels invasive, despite Sumia's natural timidity. Eventually she sighs, offering up a smile that doesn't meet her eyes, and Sumia thinks something about herself has just come up lacking. It wouldn't be the first time. Without another word, Robin turns back to the game. Sumia looks down at her book, but it's no longer interesting.

 

She turns the page and a tear falls, obscuring words she doesn’t care to read.

 

No matter what she does, she manages to upset someone. It's always someone she doesn't even want to upset. No, it's always someone she only ever wants to see happy, smiling.

Libra's calming voice glides through Gaius's excitable profanity and Robin's sweet, but stinging taunts. She doesn't realize it's directed at her until Libra practically hovers over her, his graceful form casting a shadow that would be distracting were she actually reading. "Sumia?"

"Hm? Sorry, Libra, what was that?"

"Since Olivia will be here soon, I thought it might be nice to get some food. Would you like to come with me?"

"Oh…um." She considers the scene before her. It might be good to go out, at least for a little bit. "Yeah, I'll come." She follows Libra to the door and slides into her shoes. Robin pauses the game again, if Gaius's groan is any indication, and hands Libra a couple of bills.

"On me," she says, and Libra dips his head in thanks, one hand on the doorknob.

"Burgers, then?" Sumia asks after glancing at the money.

" _ Yes _ , please!" Gaius yells out.

Robin laughs, "Or whatever else you want from the diner, yeah." She hands Sumia her keys, a soft look in her eyes, before turning back toward the living room. She's not angry.

Sumia breathes a sigh of relief as the door clicks shut behind her. She locks the door before nodding to Libra and walking down the hall to the elevators. Libra's presence is as calming in usual, and he doesn't seem to see the need in talking as they ride down the nine floors to the lobby.

As soon as they step out of the building she asks him why he asked her to come. It's not a big deal, and she doesn't at all mind, but normally it's him and Robin, or him and Gaius.

"You looked like you could use some fresh air," says Libra. "Sumia…I know you and I are not particularly close, but I admit, I've become increasingly concerned over you of late." His steady voice initiates conversation only as far as she's willing to allow. It's nice, as lovely a quality as everything else about him. She's reminded of how much she appreciates him as they walk, despite their lack of particular closeness, as he'd so gently put it.

"I've been better," she starts. Stops. Picks up again even though there's nothing in his patient smile that says she has to. "But telling Cordelia about my illness _at_ _all_ felt like such a huge step, you know?"

"I can only imagine. It was very brave of you to do it." He sounds completely genuine, and it takes her a minute to realize that he isn't just saying it for the sake of something to say. It surprises her, but then again, Libra has always struck her as a genuinely caring person.

She finds a shaky laugh somewhere, tossing it from her lips before she loses it. "I don't know about  _ brave _ ."

"No, really, it was." Libra pats her on the shoulder as they enter the diner. "So many people refuse to tell their loved ones when things are wrong. It's incredibly difficult." When she turns to look at him, he smiles. "Telling someone close to you that you love them as more than a friend is a unique challenge in and of itself, never mind the additional facets of your situation."

She mulls over his words as he places their order. The diner is fairly busy, as usual, so it's going to be a while. That's fine. She and Libra snag the last available pair of stools at the counter. "I've never realized how wise you are."

"I don't know about  _ wise _ ," he says, voice as serene as ever, "but the duties of my office have certainly opened my eyes to many viewpoints and thought patterns that I might never have considered otherwise."

"Do you ever think about getting married, Libra?"

The questions throws him off, if only a little. His lovely pale eyes widen noticeably before falling in line with his usual placid expression. "I have entertained the thought. Naga does not deny Her servants the freedom to marry, if such is their desire." The smile on his face looks fond, and only slightly wistful. "Yes. I have certainly entertained the thought a fair bit, myself."

She considers him, the beautiful man beside her. Robin had filled her in on LIbra's crush on Gaius shortly after Gaius's operation, providing the little details Sumia hadn't known. Had she not been told, it would have surprised her, but the more time she spends with them both, the more she understands. The more she sympathizes with Libra.

"Are you ever going to tell him?"

"One day, perhaps, but for now Gaius needs me as a friend, a trusted confidant. He needs time to heal before I'd even consider it."

It makes sense, and it's exactly what she would have expected him to say. He's right, after all. In the few years she's known him, Libra's judgement has always been sound. "You really are wise, aren't you?"

"My wisdom comes in part from my faith, if anything." She must make some sort of alarmed expression, because he laughs gently and pats her arm. "That does not mean that those who do not share my faith must be without wisdom, of course." He shakes his head, his gorgeous blond hair gleaming under the diner lights. "Look at Robin. She is far wiser than I am, wouldn't you say? And we are of different faiths."

"But what about those of us who could be counted among the faithless?"

Libra's hand remains gentle on her arm, a warm reminder of the humanity they share. "Though it may not be a recognized faith, we all do believe in something. You do not live your life with the outlook of one who might be  _ truly _ considered faithless."

 

The discussion feels too heavy for the slow thank you she offers.

 

The waitress puts their order down in front of them with an apology and a kind smile, and when they stand up to go, there's no indication of their conversation written on LIbra's face. She can't bring herself to stay quiet, however, and the words out of her own mouth prove surprising, even for her. 

"Sometimes I wonder why I couldn't have just fallen in love with Robin."

_ That _ surprises him more than the marriage question. He slows to a more conversational pace. "Oh?'

Actually, Libra doesn't sound as shocked as she might have expected, which leads her to believe that she's been a lot more obvious about her feelings than she'd thought. "I'm a horrible person."

"No," he says quietly, voice sharper than she's ever heard him sound. "You aren't horrible at all, Sumia; don't say something so unkind and untrue about yourself." She can't so much as muster up the beginnings of an apology before he adds, pensively, "I'd wondered, but to hear you say it is…rather strange."

"Strange how?"

"Sumia, anyone with eyes can see that you're in love with Cordelia."

Her cheeks burn. "I-is that so?"

"No need to be embarrassed. It's a beautiful thing." The lobby feels almost stiflingly warm when she steps through the doors. Or maybe that's just her. "It is also clear that Robin cares very deeply for you, and that you feel the same."

"I…I know." She's not sure what else there is to say. Libra lets the matter drop just as they step out of the elevator, and then she's unlocking Robin's door and Olivia is there and everything feels, for whatever reason, a little better.

"Awesome, I was just about to say. Time to recharge!" says Gaius, "Didja get my pie?"

"Yes, we did," Libra says, and his smile when Gaius reaches up to give him a one-armed hug is lovely.

"Sweet! And after lunch, I'm gonna kick your butt, Bubbles!"

"I'm shaking, I assure you."

Olivia giggles, and Robin's smile is easy, calm. The way it should be. Sumia breathes, then joins in on it all. Her throat aches, but it's easier to ignore when everyone else looks like they're enjoying themselves so much.

 

* * *

  
  


"The fact that you've told her at all is something to be proud of, darling," says Maribelle, patting Sumia's hand in her usual delicate manner. "Wouldn't you say so, sweetheart?"

Lissa bounces in her seat, her and Maribelle's ten-month old gurgling on her knee. She looks as youthful as she's always been despite the baby in her arms. "I'd say so, yeah! You've been very brave."

Sumia laughs, the sound shaky, unnatural. Maribelle can tell she's uncomfortable, clearly, but she tries to get a word in edgewise before the blonde can say anything else. "That's what people tell me. But I mean, she  _ deserved _ to know; she's been my best friend for so long."

"Mhm, yes," Maribelle says, pursing her lips in thought. The teacup she brings to her lips looks expensive, which makes sense given whose home it is, but Sumia doesn't feel too badly even though her hands shake when she reaches for her own cup. She'd grown up in a fairly well-to-do family herself, and she's no stranger to fine things. So long as she doesn't have to stand up and walk around a lot, she's good about not breaking anything. "Now, when we spoke that day, you didn't happen to mention treatments. You're not looking into anything?"

"I'm not."

Lissa pouts. "But you could die, Sumia." She sounds even gentler than usual, even kinder than Sumia knows her to be..

"I know," she says, distracting herself from Maribelle's gaze by staring at the fine details on the china. It's so lovely. Exquisite, really, the sort of thing that her mother had only ever taken out on the most special of occasions, like whenever Chrom and Lissa’'s family would come over. Or Cordelia's.

"Sumia."

Maribelle's voice is sharp, but not unkind, and she looks up feeling instantly chastised. Like a little girl in front of the headmaster. "Yes?"

"Darling we're not trying to make you feel poorly or anything, but it would be optimal for you to remain amongst the living, wouldn't you agree?"

"I mean, I suppose..."

Lissa's hand is warm over hers. "What do you mean you suppose? Sumia...have you spoken with anybody about this?"

It takes her a minute to fully grasp what Lissa is asking her. She's embarrassed once she does. "It isn't like that."

"Sure does seem like it. Robin says you've been withdrawn lately. She's worried."

"Lissa," Maribelle says, and there's an edge to her voice that Sumia doesn't think she's ever heard directed at Lissa. "Never you mind about that, Sumia. But honestly, have you thought of speaking with someone qualified to discuss your blasé attitude toward your own life?"

She thinks she could cry, except that that would make a fine image when the actual baby in the room is perfectly content, and she does care enough about what both women think about her that she doesn't want to cause a scene. Sumia doesn't want to kill herself or anything, of course not. It's just...difficult to imagine being alive for much longer when the reality is that now that she knows how much she loves Cordelia, she can't imagine continuing to live without those feelings being returned. Without those feelings, at all.

And that just isn't a possibility.

"I'm not being blasé about my life, I promise. This has all been so difficult, though. Confusing. I just..." she trails off before the thickness of her tears can clog her throat as well.

Maribelle nods and shifts the topic with a not-so-subtle look in Lissa's direction. She can't be sure what it means, but that doesn't matter much to her right now.

The rest of their afternoon is pleasant enough, though the sinking feeling in her gut never quite goes away.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It's hot in her apartment, far hotter than it should be this early in the summer. She throws her blankets off with a grunt, nearly tossing herself off her bed in the process. It's harder to breathe than normal, so she saves herself the trouble of possibly having to clean blood off her floor or carpet or what-have-you and parks herself in front of the toilet. She's bound to cause a problem for herself at some point, but for now the pipes seem able to handle the stress the flower buds have caused.

It takes her an hour or two to fall back asleep, and she only bothers because it's the weekend. Some weekend it's looking to be. She sighs as she turns one way, then the other. It's been harder and harder to fall asleep, and harder still to stay asleep for any duration of time.

It's awful, and she knows she should know better, but she reaches for her phone. By some miracle, she manages not to drop it on either the floor or her face.

 

**To: Robbi - 2:31am**

I can't sleep.

 

There's no response more than ten minutes later, which she should honestly have expected. The disappointment weighs on her chest like stone, and Sumia's more disgusted with herself than usual. How pathetic.

 

**To: Cordy - 2:43am**

Cordy, I can't sleep.

 

She waits for a minute, then two, before dropping her phone on the pillow beside her head. It's too late to take the messages back, but she regrets sending both of them. What had she been thinking? Why couldn't she just fall asleep, or deal with it herself? She's a big girl, isn't she?

She closes her eyes again, painfully aware that she's still awake, that she's no closer to falling asleep now than she had been minutes, no, hours ago.

A familiar guitar solo begins to play, and she answers her phone more quickly than she thinks should be possible for a person as groggy as she is. Before she can say anything, Robin's voice filters through the speaker. "Are you alright, 'Mia?"

The concern in her voice makes Sumia feel even guiltier than she'd already felt. Robin is a busy woman; she doubtlessly has plans for the day, and instead of sleeping, she's calling Sumia. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm sorry I texted I just..."

"Can't sleep, yeah," Robin says, and there's a softness in her voice that Sumia's never really noticed before. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"No. But I did throw up again."

It surprises her when Robin doesn't mention that she's getting worse, the way she usually would. Instead, Robin's night-soft voice only comes back with a gentle, "Do you need anything? I could drive over there, the C-Mart is open 24 hours."

"Oh, Robbi, no, you don't have to do that. I'm really sorry I called, I'm definitely disturbing you!" She sounds far too frantic, far too out of place in the sanctity of the night.

Robin coos and soothes her with assurances. "Are you sure there's nothing I could do for you?"

There's one thing she can think of, but she couldn't possibly request it. "...no."

Robin catches the hesitancy in her voice and even though she stays silent for a minute or two, Sumia gets the feeling that she knows what Sumia wants. Instead of saying anything, Robin begins to hum lowly, a familiar tune that Sumia's heard so many times before.

When Robin starts to sing, she closes her eyes, allowing the sound of the other woman's voice to soothe her to sleep.

 

She wakes up later on in the day and notices that she's missed a call. From Cordelia, no less. And she'd left a message. 

With a shakier hand than she thinks the situation warrants, she holds the phone to her ear and waits for the message to begin.

"Su? I'm sorry, I was working on something and it just ran away from me, but it seems like you're on another call right now. Is it Robin?" Cordelia laughs. It doesn't sound like the sort of laugh that Sumia's used to hearing from her. "It's...well, how silly of me. It's probably Robin. Well, I'll hang up then. Call me later, we should go out. See a movie or something, just us. Love you, Su. Sweet dreams."

Her cheeks are wet, a growing stain spreading on the pillowcase under her head. Why? She can't say what it had been, but something in Cordelia's voice had just broken her heart.

  
  
  


Broken it further, in any case.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is happening because there was one anon on Tumblr who wanted a hanahaki SumiCord, and then there was another anon on Tumblr who said I should stop doing so many rarepairs (which I'm not going to do but whatever).
> 
> Anyway, hit me up [on Tumblr](https://lazywritergirl.tumblr.com) if you wanna, I'll take requests/listen to you about whatever/or just answer whatever questions you may have cuz I...don't talk to people in real life about my writing.


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